The Endgame
by Paisley Daze
Summary: Endgame begins a year and a bit ahead of the events of TDK. The Joker is beginning to make a reputation for himself in Gotham. Plans are interrupted when an older woman, who knew him as an adolescent reappears. Flames re-ignite as they .. play chess?
1. Chapter 1 Deja Vu

_**Author's Note - Story begins just over a year before the events of the Dark Knight. I own only the plot and the original characters in this piece. The rest belongs to DC Comics and Warner Bros. I make no profit from this story. A work in progress and written with love and admiration for Nolanverse. **_

_**Reviews are welcome and encourage further effort.**_

The Endgame

Chapter One

_Deja Vu_

It was a greasy day in Gotham. The uncharacteristically humid, sweltering day in early autumn turned the film of car and industrial exhaust into a slick coating of big city sweat. It was mid-afternoon but the sun was cloaked in clouds and the feeble light was over-whelmed by the hulking skyscrapers transforming the streets into gloomy canyons.

The black cargo van with tinted windows snaked through the steamy streets intent on its destination, the Gotham City Armory, across from Monolith Square. Joker had decided it was time to beef up his arsenal and the Armory was one-stop shopping. It was probably the only place he was going to be able to pick up the bazooka he was anxious to possess. He could visualize hours of play with a weapon like that.

Inside the van, three men in woollen caps ready to convert into full ski masks upon arrival at their destination, one of them driving, listened to the Joker who was laying out the plan for the heist ahead of them in great detail. They could have gone at night but mid-day would be so much more satisfying. More play soldiers and rent-a-cops to confront, more citizens on the street to witness the action, and better light for the for the camera crews to capture it all for their supper time news cast.

The Joker sat in the back, decked out in a rumpled brown suit with a paisley shirt, green vest and full war paint. He sat with lanky legs splayed casually like he was sitting in a bar, long arms orchestrating his words every so often with dramatic flourish to punctuate his speech. His voice was gritty and dull, filled with a dismissive sort of contempt for his companions.

"This is going to be a surprise. Complete surprise. You're going to see people stunned and frozen at first and then some asshole will try to be a hero and we'll have to use fire power. Just remember to wait until I give the signal to do anything. I mean **_anything_**. I'm running the show here and anyone who forgets it will get left behind … dead."

The driver, a little guy Joker called Midget, looked in the rear view mirror at the man he called Boss. The dank straggly dirty blond hair needed a touch up. The usual green hued rinse was running to the ends leaving a lot of the natural colour to show through. His naturally kinky hair was wild and springy due to the humidity, standing out like an electric fringe around the white pancaked face with darkly kohled sockets framing intelligent brown eyes. Joker noticed Midget eying him in the mirror and flashed a sinister yellow toothed grin with the crimson slash that formed his natural mouth and the scars that extended out onto each ravaged cheek. He really was a hellish vision of complete and utter insanity today.

"What d'ya think there Midget? Ready to **_die _**today?" Joker shouted it like a preacher from the pulpit.

"Not today Boss." Midget tried to watch the road and the man in the mirror as Boss loaded a clip and pointed the gun at him, one dark rimmed eye squeezed shut, taking aim.

"Well then, pay attention. Right Charlie?" He looked at the man sitting at the very back of the van, literally riding "shot gun", cross-legged and vigilantly watching out the window for any trouble.

"Absolutely Boss." Charlie nodded quickly and gave a peace sign that make Joker smirk.

"Oh and ah .... Harry ..." The Joker addressed his newest goon sitting up front with Midget.

"Haldon" he was corrected.

"Asshat." Joker christened him on the spot. "You cretans really are just a taaaad-d below trained monkeys as far as remembering instructions. I woke up on the wrong side of the _**world**_ today and if you do anything stupid, I won't hesitate to spray your brains all over the good citizens of Gotham."

Haldon turned to the rear seat to watch Joker push the chrome-topped glock into his inside suit jacket pocket. Joker looked back at him; head tilted downwards, eyes upwards, in a confrontational glare.

"Capice?"

Midget and Haldon nodded vigorously as Joker sucked in his cheeks and licked at the corners of his mouth like a deranged serpent. The haze of malice wafting from his hunched shoulders was palpable, like a vapour.

Midget took a corner a little too tightly and everyone in the vehicle fought to stay upright as Joker pulled out the gun again and began waving it in the mirror. Charlie looked on calmly, not much affected by the Boss's theatrics, which he was used to.

"I swear Midget. Today's the day! Today's the day you're gonna die." His eyes glanced out the side door window for a second to case where they were after the corner was behind them, then he looked back to Midget. But just as quickly, his eyes flickered back to the street. He nearly gave himself whiplash following something as they passed it.

"Midget, go around the block and come by that spot again, only - _slooowly_."

Joker was turned completely around as he watched out the back window, focussed on something or someone. The other three men strained their gazes after his to try and figure out what it was that had caught his attention.

Midget did as he was told taking the next right, carefully, and then travelling around the block. He watched Joker as he followed instructions. The Boss had changed position and was crouched in the space between the seats, ready to get a good look at whatever it was that had distracted him. As they came up around the corner, he roared in a murderous thunder.

"Slow down _**now**_!"

Midget rode the brakes carefully, desperately trying to please the armed psychopath in the rear.

"What is it Boss?"

"Shut it." Joker chewed on the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes as his vision lasered in on a small figure in front of a book store window.

"Stop. Park". He gave orders tersely.

Midget looked around frantically at the curb that was fully occupied by cars and trucks on a Thursday afternoon. There was no space. "Where?" He spluttered, waiting for the gunshot.

"_**Stop**_!" Joker barked in a tone that was not human.

Midget hit the brakes hard and everyone flew forward, Joker disappeared from his rear view mirror, while traffic screeched around them and horns blasted in outrage. He cringed at the heavy silence in the rear, waiting for the Boss to find his footing and use his weapon. Instead, there was a low cackle from the floor as Joker pushed himself back up onto the seat. He pushed his wild hair back from his face, still giggling, and then gazed out the window like a cat watching a bird.

All three men followed his gaze. The object of his focus was a woman, small, in blue jeans and a khaki military style jacket thrown over her shoulders. Turned, at the moment, as she was toward the store, her face was not visible but her most outstanding feature was a veil of wavy dark brown, nearly black, hair, cascading over her shoulders and down her back.

She moved and Joker's head tilted as he watched, waiting. As she turned away from the window, her profile came into view, and then she glanced out into traffic for a second and her face was revealed. Softly ruffled bangs framed her small heart-shaped face. She appeared to be about forty. Her expressive eyes were accentuated by dark eye liner, under a brow that was knit into a mild frown as though she was thinking very hard.

She was lovely but appeared fragile and the way she carried herself was guarded and tight. She carried a large hobo handbag over one shoulder and tugged at the corner of her jacket with her hand to keep it from falling off the opposite shoulder. It was an awkward movement as though she could only use one hand.

"Boss?" Midget was watching the traffic flow around them as they sat in the street like a boulder in the rapids.

"Not-t. Now." Joker pushed the driver's concerns aside as he remained riveted to the figure on the street. "Stay right where we are."

"But the traffic……" Midget stopped speaking as Joker moved a hand into this suit jacket, where the glock was stowed, without taking his gaze from the woman on the sidewalk.

Midget glanced to Charlie in the back, looking for some assitance with his situation but Charlie remained calm, looking around him, humming, as though he was waiting for an ordinary traffic light.

The van moved along at a walking speed as Joker continued his surveillance in silence.

Haldon, young and impatient, was growing tired of the silence and tried to understand the situation.

"What is it Boss? You know her? She's a little old, don't you think?"

"I think....." Joker told him in a bored fashion." That if **_you_ **want to get any older, you'll stop talking right now." And then to himself, he muttered in a soft incredulous tone, "Of all the times to turn up, you gotta pick now?"

She stopped at a pet store window and the van stopped its progress once again serenaded by the furious drivers behind.

She didn't react to the car horns as her attention was on what was in the store window. She was about to tap on the glass to get the puppy's attention. The sign said it was a Schnoodle, two months old.

"You are seriously cute." She mouthed through the window at the little grey bundle up to his adorable ears in crumpled newspaper. The pup looked up suddenly before she could tap. He looked behind her with a beguiling curiosity that caught at her heart.

Before she could form a smile in reaction, a large gloved hand clamped over her mouth so hard she felt her lower jaw pushed back in its sockets and a heavily jacketed arm cinched her across the midriff, knocking the wind out of her as she was lifted from the pavement. The world spun and objects blurred together as she was vaulted through the side of a black van, head pushed violently to the filthy floor and held there by a hand that showed no restraint or regard for the fact that she was beginning to hyperventilate.

The sounds of Gotham retreated with the whoosh and metallic click of the van door. The hand that was pressing her to floor so forcefully was suddenly gone as she heard a deep masculine voice growl.

"No, no, no. I told you to bring her to me without any major contusions. What part of your reptilian brain failed to grasp my meaningggg?"

She heard a pained _ooomph!_ and someone landing heavily on one of the seats. She could smell solvents and sweat and something else that she associated with combustion, like hundreds of matches being struck at once.

The same voice snarled again, this time in a higher, more nasally register.

"Midget – hit it! And turn on the goddamn AC!"

The order was given and the van floor shifted as they began to move. She had not dared to lift herself from the floor. She wasn't sure she would be allowed and she was still hyperventilating so her lack of breath was keeping her in that fixed prone position.

She did manage to turn her head to look toward the origin of the voice and she was met with a pair of very worn, but probably once expensive pair of pointy-toed, brownish dress shoes. She took in some details, socks, multi-coloured. Was that argyle? Her vision began to darken around the edges as her heart pounded staccato in her chest, reacting not only to the fright but also the lack of oxygen.

"Breathe." The one in charge commanded from on high. "Breathe, Claire."

Her eyes widened at the sound of her name. Had they gone through her handbag for ID? But she could feel the soft lumpiness of her bag still beneath her. In the midst of her growing confusion, a strong leather bound hand grasped her left wrist and lifted her up to a sitting position on the floor. Long, lean brown trousered legs fell into a crouch before her and she gulped at the rancid air around her as she lifted her gaze to take him in.

A mud coloured suit jacket that despite its colour, still showed a fair amount of dirt and grime, from wear and tear, a bottle green vest that hugged a narrow chest, a shirt at fashion odds with a gaudy tie and then curls, green curls, registered in her addled brain a nano-second ahead of the bizarre parchment face and soot encircled sable eyes. Her heart tripped up several notches and she could hear it hammering in her ears as the scarlet gash of his mouth split into a hideous grin, exposing two even rows of yellowed teeth. Red stained the edges of his teeth, giving him the appearance of having just chewed on something bloody and raw.

Joker peered into her face intently for a moment, wondering whether he had been mistaken. She didn't seem to react in the way he had imagined. No trace of recognition in the surprisingly calm olive green eyes. His gaze was distracted by a flash of white under her jacket and he noticed that her right arm was in a plaster cast from the elbow and extending down to her hand and then partially around her palm and thumb. That was why she had been wearing the jacket like a cape. And they had just thrown her down on top of what was most likely a fractured wrist or arm. But she wasn't howling in pain, most likely still in shock.

He was about to study her face again in an attempt to discern if he had indeed grabbed a look-a-like by mistake when he noticed something that had fallen from her pocket to the floor. He reached down carefully, holding his breath for a second, hardly able to believe what he was holding in his black gloved palm. A chess piece, the black queen, fashioned into a key chain. It looked a little bit beaten up; after all, it had been what, thirteen years? But he remembered the day in shop class, carefully drilling the hole and putting it together. There was no mistake.

"Midget, where the hell are you going?" His eyes rose to hers as he barked at the driver. His grin never faltered.

"To the Armory, Boss." The driver called out, nerves adding a lilt to his voice.

"**_Not _**the Armory. Head back to base."

He pursed his painted mouth now, tilted his head slightly and gave her a questioning look, eyebrows raised beneath the white paint as it cracked across his broad forehead.

"Well?" He was waiting.

Claire was caught in his dark gothic gaze, completely out of touch with anything resembling reality. This was a carnival house of mirrors. Distortions of distortions. Disoriented to time, place or person, she used up some of her ever decreasing oxygen to manage a reply.

"You know my name?" She panted like a marathon runner as the thug who had manhandled her into the van spoke up loudly from where he had regained the front passenger seat.

"We can't go back to base. My cousin Freddy, and Spazz, are waiting at the Armory. They have it rigged. I'm not leaving them stuck. They're waiting for the signal and the pick up."

There was a second or two of silence. Her captor's facial expression collapsed into one of perplexed annoyance and he winced. He sucked at his teeth noisily for a moment and moistened his lips with a flick of his tongue before responding to the henchman's remark.

"Forget those two. Mission's aborted. And - I don't want to hear your voice - _**again**_."

Joker turned his gaze back to her with complete focus.

"Of course I know your name. And you .... you ah, know _**me**_. Under the paint I mean. You _**know **_me." His voice was soft, intimate and seductive. "Oh, but don't go blurting my name out loud in front of the…" he waved nonchalantly in the direction of his goons, "the minions here. It will just stay between you and me. M'kay?"

He nodded at her, eyebrows raised, encouraging her to comply.

Claire frowned at him, trying hard to understand what he was talking about. She recognized this monster of course - the Joker. But underneath the paint? No. He was mistaken about that. Like the rest of Gotham, she didn't have a clue who he was.

"Breathe, Blossom. Your lips are turning blue. You're going to…"

"Boss. We have to go through with this. My cousin will kill me if ......"

Without a beat, without leaving his crouch, the painted man's dark gloved hand reached into and out of his coat in a blur. He hardly aimed the gun as it went off with a sonic bang that assaulted her ears painfully. She glanced over to see a pinkish grey spray of blood and matter fog the windows.

The van lurched violently as the driver tried to dodge the ricochet within the closed space. Something warm and wet misted her face. She stared for a moment, mesmerized by the gold watch chain as it swung and sparkled against his lean hip in the growing darkness.

"Oh, lookee." He spoke in quiet fascination as she slipped into unconsciousness. "There she goes...."


	2. Chapter 2 Say My Name

The Endgame

Chapter Two - Say My Name

He carried her, over his shoulder, fireman style, up the four flights of stairs to the top floor of the abandoned tenement house that was home base for now. Joker had managed to 'convince' some crooked city officials to keep the electricity and water running at the site for the time being. He never stayed anywhere for very long. The same city workers who had cooperated got an early meeting with their maker for their trouble. Couldn't trust anyone. By the time some other public servant interrupted their never-ending coffee break long enough to discover the irregularity, Joker would most likely have already moved to new digs. The inside of this century old building had twelve foot ceilings. The walls that were shedding their ancient layers of yellowed paint were sturdy enough and the wooden plank flooring gave away every step with a moan, creating an eerie ambience.

It wasn't like him to abandon a job like this but he had quickly calculated that he could not keep track of her while helping himself to the goodies at the armoury and he couldn't trust hired help to keep her alive and in custody. And there was no way in hell he was going to drive past her and possibly go another thirteen years without answers. So, he had chosen this reunion instead of the coveted bazooka.

His men would be pissed but he could handle them. Hell, he could just kill them and save himself the grief and aggravation. He had left Midget to clean up the mess that used to be Haldon and to get in touch with Marcus and Eddie and let them know it would have to be another day. He had sent Charlie to run other errands. They would say the Boss had abandoned a mission for some pussy off the street. They knew nothing about him. Let them think that was what he was doing. Simple answers for simple minds.

She was not heavy and he carried her easily up the gloomy hallway and into the makeshift "guest" bedroom that faced away from the street and onto the neglected courtyard out back. The room was darkened as the windows were boarded up. Tiny slices of daylight filtered through the chinks onto the objects in the room like laser beams.

He lay her down on the tired old bed removing her jacket, leaving her in a black sleeveless shirt and jeans. He arranged her head and arms and legs in what he thought might be a comfortable position. He pushed a swath of long dark hair away from her face with his gloved hand and then paused a moment to look at her carefully. Looking into that face after so many years was surreal. And she hadn't really changed that much. That's why he recognized her on the street.

She looked peaceful in her fright-induced slumber. Her pale complexion had regained some colour. He noted some fine lines at the corners of her dark-lashed eyes and that there were a few barely detectable strands of silver sifting through at the temples, only visible with her hair swept back like this. This woman was indeed older, but she had aged gently, still displaying the fine featured loveliness he remembered.

She was still slightly built but he noted a healthier curve to her hip. Old movie buff that he was, when he knew her in her twenties, she had always reminded him of Liz Taylor. Back then she was built like Liz in A Place In The Sun. Now, as his eyes travelled the terrain of her prone body, she was built more like Liz in Cleopatra; more lush and curvaceous. As he placed her hands together on her stomach, he held the casted right arm for a moment and studied it carefully. The light caught the soft sheen from the necklace of tiny knotted pearls against her pale throat. It was the same one that he remembered her wearing along with her ultra feminine dresses and skirts. This dressed down casual look must be something new for her.

He checked her left hand for jewellery. A gold signet ring with the initials CMS curled around each other in fancy script on her middle finger. No wedding band. He brought his head down close to breathe in her scent. Lavender and soap. He was inches from her cheek and stopped there, sweeping his lips with his tongue in brief contemplation. There was some gore, just a light misting on the right side of her face and in her hair. He thought it might be a good idea to remove that before she awoke. People didn't like other people's blood and brains lingering on their person for long. While it might be amusing to watch her discover it and freak out completely, he needed to have her calm and focussed. He needed her cooperation.

He walked to the small adjacent bathroom, keeping his eye on her as he went and pulled a washcloth from the rail while he ran the water until it was warm. He took the moistened cloth back to the bed and leaned over her, carefully wiping away the carnage. She wasn't wearing a lot of makeup aside from the eye liner which he carefully avoided as he cleaned her up. She began to stir with his ministrations. He quickly tossed the cloth from where he was to the sink in the bathroom making a perfect landing, hiding the evidence, avoiding questions. He smiled at his good aim and then looked back to her as her eyes fluttered open.

He was leaning over her, an arm on either side, close enough to feel the air move between them when Claire opened her mouth to take a deep breath. She looked up at the face above her and for a moment, she felt dreamlike, floating, seeing things. Then reality hit her like an electric shock and she realized that he, and everything else, was real. She fought the urge to scream, staying perfectly still as he continued to cage her with his arms and upper body. Once again, she could smell solvents and combustion and a wild musky scent that sparked something like nausea in her stomach.

"You're awake!" He sounded chipper. "And not too much the worse for wear." He said in a sing-song fashion that was bizarre given the circumstances, well, _her _circumstances. He was close. Too close.

He moved slightly and she felt the softness of the mattress below her moving in response. With it, she felt pain register in her casted arm and in her midriff. She frowned and drew in her breath quickly, the pain cresting with each subsequent breath.

He noticed her distress immediately.

"Oh, sorry. My assistant got a little rough when he was escorting you to the veeeehicle. That arm broken?" He reached down and gripped the cast near the wrist gently. She winced and pulled it back protectively. He followed her every movement, eyes tracing her face, studying every inch.

"Yes." She managed and tried to pull back into the bed to widen the distance that was continuing to shrink between them.

"Ribs hurt?" He finally pulled back a little. "You landed pretty hard on that cast. I wouldn't be surprised if you're … ah, bruised a little." He pulled off his right glove with his teeth and reached down to the buttons at the bottom of her black sleeveless blouse, hooking his thumb through, opening the first one.

She used her good arm to push his hand away brusquely and then was up on her knees, across the bed, against the headboard, eyeing him like a caged tiger.

"Oh, ho, ho…." He sat back on the bed, both arms behind him as he leaned on his hands and surveyed her outrage with amusement. "Still in the dark about who I am?"

She pulled her arm and cast across her chest and just stared back at him, not saying a word.

"I wasn't going to do anything but check your ribs for bruising, Cumquat. Whatever else I may be, I'm not a rapist. You can relax about thaaaat." He smiled a smile that reached his eyes. Even in the murkiness of the room, she could see the glint in the darkened sockets. He was enjoying this.

"You see, Flower, "he reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a short black object, pushing a lever to reveal the gleam of a slotted blade, "I have other ways of getting and keeping a girl's attention." He licked his lips, sitting upright now on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg casually over the other, he gave her a calm, determined look.

Claire closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to stay calm. The way he handled the knife was deft and practised. She believed he would use it. The room was getting warmer and stuffier by the minute. She opened her eyes again and he was still there, watching her from across the bed, knife at the ready in his bare right hand. He pulled the other glove off with his sallow teeth and smoothed his unruly mane with a few swipes. He grinned and glanced at her sideways in a playful but expectant manner.

"The television." Claire finally spoke but her throat was so dry that it hurt to do so. "I do know you from…"

"No, no, no. no." He gave her an exaggerated look of utter disappointment. "You know _me_ - before I became a regular feature on GCN. I want you to take a good look at me. Really … just take a look."

He bounced up onto his feet beside the bed and did a quick turn completely around for her inspection. He was taller than average and lean in build. His clothes fit loosely and his ease and grace of movement was that of a person perfectly at home in their skin, and in good physical shape. His shoulders hunched a little giving him a slightly hulking appearance combined with his height. The hair was just crazy. Kinked out, unruly and well, it was green. The scars that snaked out from the corners of his painted mouth looked so much more sinister in person. His age was not discernable under the paint but with his gloves removed, she could see that his hands did not look old. They were stained with what looked like traces of his face paint and his knuckles were scraped and reddened. But the hands themselves were youthful, long fingered and graceful like the rest of him – hands made for fine work.

As she had noted before with his appearances on the evening news casts, his speech was inflected with a strange sort of mid-western tang but he stretched vowels and hardened his consonants in a weird pattern that she knew she had heard before but couldn't place. The voice was deep, baritone, but would drift up into a higher nasally register for emphasis.

Again, he waited. He watched her for a reaction. She wanted to explain to him that he had her mixed up with someone else, obviously, but she didn't want to agitate him. He rotated the knife in his hand over and over, like he was anxious to use it. She already knew from the cold-blooded murder she had witnessed earlier, that he was off kilter, quite mad, and unpredictable. Yet, there was nothing she could say to him. She did not know him.

He twirled once more and then ended the movement with a little flourish like he had just finished a soft shoe routine, putting his arms out and waiting, still and expectant. He looked at her in that sideways playful manner again but with the knife twitching in his palm.

"Say my name Sweetheart. You know me. Com'on. Don't disappoint." He raised his eyebrows under the paint and bit his bottom lip in suspense.

"Can I have a hint?" She asked lamely.

The gleeful anticipation on his face collapsed and he sat back down on the bed with a huff. He gave her a disgusted look and then turned away slightly, starting to clean his nails with the blade, like he was ignoring her now. He was like a petulant child. She could sense the tension rising as he chewed on his bottom lip, not looking at her. She glanced around her, trying to size up the room and her next move if he came at her with that knife. Suddenly, he stood again, good mood gone. He palmed the knife over to his left hand and with his right, he reached into his trouser pocket to retrieve a gold watch that was attached to the chain that swung in an arc against his right hip and thigh. He tapped one foot impatiently.

"You know, I got things I gotta do. I'll be back. You, ah, wait here. Well, I guess you don't have much of a choice about thaaaat. Sorry." He forced a smile but his eyes were darkened and serious. "You think long and hard-d about who I might be and how you might know me and stop being such a pain in the ass, okay?"

She didn't know how to respond so she just nodded. He snapped the watch shut and let it spill from his hand back into his pocket. He patted his hip and smiled. Returning the knife to his dominant hand, he pointed to her with it.

"That's good. Good girl." His mind seemed to wander away for a moment as he checked out the room quickly. "You're on the fourth floor so don't get any ideas, and even if you manage to open that painted over window in the bathroom with one good arm, if you yell for help no one in _this_ neighbourhood is going to come to the rescue. Besides I'll hear you and I'll be back before the Bat or anyone else can interveeeene. And you don't want me angry, right?" With incredible speed, he plunged the blade into the bed and twisted for effect. She heard the ripping and tearing deep in the mattress. He watched for her reaction. She nodded again.

"Ah, you're sweet. So co-operative. I mean my heart is _broken_ that ya don't know me, Claire, but it'll come and then we can reminisce. I could just tell you who I am but ….. where's the fun, right?"

"Fun." She echoed him, agreeing.

"Don't miss me too much, Darlin'." He slipped the blade back into its sheath and pocketed it while he strolled to the door, rattling the handle and checking the lock before exiting with a hard slam. She heard the hardware clicking into place on the outside as he locked her in securely.

She was alone. She could hear his steps fade away into the bowels of the building and men's voices raised but too far away to hear what was said. The sound of traffic was muted and far off. She was tucked away in a godforsaken corner of Gotham and keeping company with a madman who wanted to reminisce about times they never had together.

The day had started out so well. After four months back in Gotham, she was ready to make things happen, grab hold of a future for once and crawl out of her self-imposed funk. She wanted it to happen here - where she had lost it all. She wanted Gotham to pay her back for everything it took away. But she should have known something bad would happen if she came back here. It was like a curse.

She would be lucky to get out of this alive. This guy was just as crazy as the media said he was. She had seen the newscasts since returning to the city, with his victims all trussed up, awaiting their fate as he ranted on about his own personal twisted philosophy about society and justice and the Batman, _always_ the Batman. Now it was her. She wondered if she would end up on the news like the others. She made the worst kind of hostage if that is what she was. There was no one to care, to claim her, to miss her. She was utterly, utterly, alone in Gotham – in the world.

She held her throbbing casted arm for a moment, feeling the pain more acutely now that the distraction, the threat of him, had left. She was so tired but she willed herself to think.

She slid off the bed and walked around, looking for something, anything, that she could use when he returned. If she was going down, it wouldn't be without a fight. Damn this city. Damn _him_. She didn't get this far to get screwed over again. She had one good arm and ….. there had to be _something_. The bedside lamp was too unwieldy for one arm - the table too heavy. She dropped to her knees painfully as her ribs yelped at the movement. She ignored the discomfort and squinted in the murky light under the bed. She could see an object, just a shadow, really. She lay down on her side, panting into the pain of resting on her ribs as she did so, and reached for it.

It was a heavy wooden box that rattled as she pulled it out into her lap as she sat on the floor, her back against the bed. She slid the slotted lid back to reveal a set of chess pieces tossed in loosely – black and white. Classic Staunton pieces. She recognized the style immediately. They were large and weighted and possibly real ivory. The familiar shapes of the rooks and the knights and the slotted heads of the bishops were a strange comfort to her at this moment. Like old friends. She smiled fondly at the box and its contents.

"You never let me down." She marvelled at the coincidence. Of all the things to find. She stood up and placed the closed box on the bed as she pulled a dusty pillow out from under the ancient and worn bedspread. Dust motes danced in the thin, brilliant shafts of light in the room as she worked the pillow case off with her good hand. She slipped the heavy box inside the pillow case and gave it a twist to close the open end like a sack.

She stepped back and moved into a wide-legged stance near the door. She swung the pillow case with its heavy contents around her head a few times to get the feel of it. Her sore ribcage and arm nearly winded her as she made the movement over and over again to get it right. Quite possibly this would hurt her more than him. It would have to do. She would have to aim well.


	3. Chapter 3 Epiphany

The Endgame

Chapter Three

"Epiphany"

Claire was fighting the fatigue of the long wait for his return. The room had darkened a little with the approach of evening and she turned on the small lamp on the table beside the bed. The overhead ceiling light was not working. She had moved to the door to take up a vigil on the floor, listening for his approaching foot steps. She would have just enough time to take her well-practiced stance and attack him with her improvised weapon.

She felt herself starting to nod off, giving into the exhaustion of pain and anxiety, when she heard footsteps scraping up the dusty hallway outside the door. It could only be him. She sprang up, taking her stance, holding the pillowcase with her left hand, ready to begin her circular swing that would build enough momentum to make the cotton-enclosed wooden box a formidable weapon.

She heard the metallic sounds of locks being released and chains being slid and dropped against the door. Her heart started to race and her stomach rose in waves of nausea as she raised her good arm and began to swing, once, twice, around and around. Light from the hallway framed his stooped silhouette as he stepped into the dimly lit room.

"I'm back. Ready to…" He didn't see anything coming. He was stunned by a sharp, hard rap on the side of his head that left him disoriented for a split second. Instinct made him duck immediately, avoiding the next blow handily. It took a few seconds for Joker to understand what was happening but he quickly sized up the situation and reacted.

Claire felt the solid connection with his head and winced even as she wound up for a second go. But her swing missed as he went down towards the floor and she felt herself tackled around the knees, catapulting her over his back, losing her grip on the pillow case as she put her one good arm out to stop her fall. The pillow case hit the wall, flailing its contents like buckshot to all corners of the room.

"Fuuuuuuuuck!" He let loose in an enraged holler as he stood up and put his left hand against his temple, feeling a warm thick oozing of blood from a gash in his hair.

Claire immediately realized that she had miscalculated and now he was between her and the partially open door. She took one look at the murderous gaze he locked on her and she took off on all fours, scrabbling quickly under the bed as he reached out to grasp her with his right hand. She scooted as far away as possible without losing cover of the bed over top of her. But, his reach was long and he grasped her ankle easily, pulling to extricate her from her hiding spot. She kicked him repeatedly, hard, with the boot of her free leg but he didn't even seem to feel it. His grip was like a bear trap on her ankle. She heard him making low growling sounds in his chest as he fought with her, finally pulling her all the way out.

He slammed her over onto her back, her head bouncing off the floor on impact and held her there with an iron grip around her throat as he leaned over her, his face just inches from hers, eyes black with rage and a trickle of blood sneaking down the left side of his face, mixing with the crimson of his scars and mouth. He was breathing heavily, fuelled by pure anger. He squint his black orbs and sneered at her, body heat bearing down on her like a furnace.

"Someone wants to diiiiieeeee." He growled through clenched yellow teeth, his voice low and threatening. He let the blood drip off his cheek and onto her own, smiling sadistically as her terrified eyes followed the droplets, her breath coming in laboured gasps and her eyes blinking in disbelieve at her predicament.

"Do you want to suffocate?" He tightened his leathered grip on her throat as he raised his eyebrows with the question. "Or, do you want to be perforated?" She felt the cold metal of a blade against her chin. "Your choice, peanut-t. It'll be the last decision you ever have to make, hmmmm?"

She could feel the full weight of his body on hers, their legs entangled, as he pressed her against the floor, one vice-like hand compromising her airway and the other teasing with a blade against her cheek. She closed her eyes, almost welcoming the unconsciousness that would come soon with lack of air. After a moment's reflection, she opened her eyes and looked up, directly into his demented carbon-ringed eyes and stared at him defiantly. If he was going to kill her, she wanted to watch him do it. There was a silent pause where they just stared at each other as her heart started to flutter begging oxygen from her starved lungs. Her eyelids quivered, fighting to stay open as her vision turned gauzy and grey. And then his hand was gone from her throat and his body lifted from hers.

She drew in a long, ragged breath as he grasped her painfully by the hair and pulled her to her feet, dragging her toward the bathroom area. There was feeble light coming through the etched glass in the small window, probably from a nearby street light. He pulled the glass door of the enclosed tub and shower area back with a slam which surprisingly left the glass intact. He tossed her unceremoniously into the tub and slammed the glass door again, this time, breaking a small piece from the frame that met the wall. It rattled into the tub with her and she scurried back on her butt to the far corner and huddled there, still gulping for air.

"Stay there." He commanded with a bark and then explained with unnerving calmness, "I swear if you try anything, I'll slit your throat and drain you dry right there in the tub."

Her eyes travelled down to the shard of glass by her hand. It glinted at her like a beacon. Then she lifted her gaze to the shower door.

Claire could see him through the break in the glass. He turned on a light over the medicine chest and squinted at the harshness of the fluorescent bulb. His eye caught sight of a chess piece that had made its way into the bathroom, nestled against the wall by the sink. He bent and picked it up. A white pawn. She heard him snuffle back some bitter laughter as he turned to the tub enclosure.

"You asked for a hint." His voice carried a sarcastic edge. "Here's your hint, Buttercup." He tossed the chess piece over the top rail of the glass and it landed square in her lap where she lay in the tub. She reached out slowly and took it in her hand, turning it over and over, confused and terrified at what would come next. She continued to watch him in silence as he looked hard at himself in the cloudy mirror.

He ran his tongue around inside his mouth and spat into the sink. Raking a hand into his dishevelled hair he pushed it away from his cheekbone to get a good look at the damage at his temple. At that moment, with the feeble light of the translucent bathroom window behind him, she caught a good look at him in profile. She felt a tug in her stomach and she bit her bottom lip in consternation. The contours of his face from this angle were familiar. He let the arm supporting him on the sink relax and she watched his shoulder hitch up as he leaned forward. She quickly glanced down at the chess piece in her hand and then back to him. She felt nausea start to tickle her throat as the years melted away and she knew him. She became utterly still as she watched, transfixed.

"Jack?" She whispered hoarsely, and he stopped examining himself in the mirror, turning slowly towards the shower where she looked out at him through the small gap between the door and the wall. Since he was backlit, it was difficult for her to read his reaction to his name. He approached and she moved back against the tiled wall as far away from him as she could get, squatted down in the tub, her arm and her cast crossed over her chest with her chin tucked down into them, her eyes raised to meet him.

He pushed the door aside sharply, rattling the loose glass as he leaned into the shower area and gave her a quizzical look. He addressed her in a nasally, sing-song.

"Good afternoon Miss Sanborne." He grinned in a sick parody of the school boy he had once been.

He stepped into the tub with her and crouched down closer, getting up into her face as close as he could manage. She shrunk back further. He reached out and roughly pulled her good arm out to break the barrier between them, leaving her no where to hide her face. She stared at him as one would a ghost. Despite the smeared paint and the nightmarish disfigurements trailing out from the corners of his mouth, she could see him now. The halo of softly kinked greenish hair framing his face was longer but she well remembered the shorter, but just as chaotic, mass of blond curls on a fifteen year old boy. He caught her studying his hair.

"Ah, have I changed that much?" He tilted his head at her in a pleading fashion and before she could think it through, she blurted.

"You're taller and your hairline has changed." She blinked her gaze away from him and tried to say something else but he cut her off.

"Yes, it has receded a little." He put a large spidery hand into it at his forehead and pushed it back for her inspection. "I have a widow's peak now." And with the other hand, he gestured toward his twin lines of scarring adding ruefully. "And…," he smiled broadly to emphasize the damage, "I've had some work done."

She glanced at the scars and then away. "But I do recognize you now." Her voice wobbled slightly.

"Well, congratulations!" He shouted so close to her face that she felt a breeze. "Johnny! Tell the lady what she's won!"

There was a pause, complete silence, and then he leaned back and started to bounce on his heels as he laughed in a half giggle, half gaffaw that was positively eerie. The malice did not leave his eyes for a second as he enjoyed his own private joke. He whimpered into the final stages of laughter which ended abruptly as he rose to his full height, reaching down to pull her to her feet with much more force than was necessary.

Her boot slipped against the rigid surface of the tub and she tumbled forward, reflexively grasping him around the hips to keep from falling. He flinched at the contact and twisted out of the accidental embrace pushing her hands off of him roughly and giving her a shove back where she gripped the walls to keep from losing her balance again. His black-orbited brown eyes narrowed at her as he rubbed the side of his head where she had wounded him. It had stopped bleeding but the blood stain lingered adding even more drama to his already ghoulish appearance.

She sensed that looking away drew anger from him so she held his gaze, gulping down her terror as he stepped back out of the tub.

"Out." He demanded tersely in a manner that defied hesitation on her part. She joined him by the sink where he was straightening his jacket and smoothing his rebellious mane. He took a deep, shuddering breath as if to calm himself.

"Alright then, Claire. I'm leaving you here for a bit. You may as well get comfortable. You're my guest for a while."

"How long?" She stared around her, not comprehending.

"I'll be gone for a couple of hours."

"No, how long will I be here?"

He tilted his head down close to her, using an intimate tone.

"You'll be here as long as it takes to ah, get re-acquainted, and to answer a few questions, fill in a few blanks, tie up some loose ends, dot some "i's", cross some "t's."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Solve some mysteries? Hmmm?"

"But you can't just _keep_ me here." it was more of a question.

He studied her for a moment and frowned.

"You still have that really pretentious way of speaking."

"I'm English." She reminded him.

"Yeah, but it's really pretentious. You've been in this country long enough to have lost a little of the roundness to your vowels, Cupcake."

"I've been back here for less than a year."

"You went back to England?" He looked interested as some of the anger had melted from his features.

She nodded.

"We _do_ have a lot of catching up to do. It'll be fuuun." He insisted as he walked past her, out into the bedroom and towards the door. "I'll bring some food when I get back and I've sent someone to fetch some of your things. It'll be good. Like old times, hmmm?" He glanced over his shoulder at her as he put his hand on the doorknob, rattling it to test the soundness. He noticed she was still carrying the pawn in her hand.

"Oh, and the board is in the closet. Set it up somewhere. We'll have a game. It's been a long time since we _played_ together." He smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "I might let you win."

He hesitated as if remembering something and took a moment to take a good look at her. He let his eyes sweep across her face and then down to her feet and then back up to meet her eyes. His tongue snaked out to the corner of his ravaged mouth as if in deep thought.

"You're shorter." He finally shared his thought.

"Only because _you've_ gotten taller." She reminded him, looking in his face, searching for more of him. She found it in the mouth, surprisingly. He had always had the most expressive mouth, peaked and full. The scarring had not altered his natural mouth that much, aside from a deep gash that marred his bottom lip n a Y shaped incision. When he grinned, as he was now, it was Jack. She should have recognized him earlier. Even with the paint, Jack the man was not that different from Jack the adolescent boy.

"Fourteen years." She cradled her sore right arm in her left and tried to do the math.

"Thirteen." He corrected her. "I'm twenty-eight."

"In April." She remembered.

"Right." He looked at her sideways, impressed. "I didn't get your card."

She gave him a smirk that registered his attempt at humour.

He watched her, rubbing the spot where she had nailed him with the chess box, and then gave his head a violent shake as if to re-set his brain.

"Gotta go. I'll be back." He started moving toward the door but stopped before going through. He spoke to her without turning around. "Don't do anything like that again, okay? " She didn't answer. "Claire?" He waited.

"Will you let me go?"

"Eventually, if you're good. Yes." He looked over his shoulder at her. "Unless you piss me off. Don't piss me off. I'm a killer. You already know that-t." He watched for her reaction. She nodded and looked worriedly around her at her surroundings and her situation.

"And don't think for a New York minute that you would be spared because of our previous, ah … _relationship_." He emphasized the last word and stared hard at her when he said it. She had to look away, it was that intense.

His frown softened into a sly smile at her obvious discomfort at the reminder of their indiscretion. Or maybe that was too strong a word. Their dalliance? Their inappropriate friendship? It was one of his fondest and yet most painful memories. It was one of his last, as shortly thereafter, his memory entered a hazy quagmire followed by an outright fugue state – a black hole of nothingness – until about three years ago. But his memory of her and their brief period of bliss and abandon was crisp and clear as was his recollection of his mother's painful journey to an early grave that was a dark counterpoint to the delight and passion he felt with his dear teacher. He was in heaven and in hell at the same point in time until small minds forced them apart and she left him to face hell alone.

She wondered what he was thinking, he seemed so far away, just standing there hand on the door handle, ready to exit but not completing the action. She waited and watched, wondering if he might be having second thoughts about her captivity.

"I wondered if you were dead." He said flatly. "At that time, I still cared you see. And then, later, after I "evolved" into who I am now, I _wished_ you were dead."

She looked at him, her face a mask of concentration bordering on fear.

"Pizza or submarines?" He said suddenly, breaking the spell.

"What?"

"For supper, Sugar Cube. Or how about pasta? And, oh, a bottle of wine?" He was completely chipper, light and airy. It was unnerving how the transformation happened in a second that she missed completely. It was a startling reminder of the mental seesaw he was riding.

"You chose."

"Good choice."

With that he turned, stepped out the door, humming a tune to himself that she recognized as Rocky Racoon by the Beatles.

Before the last lock had clicked into place, she was across the room, clambering onto the bed and rifling the pockets of her jacket, looking for her keys and keychain. It was gone, of course. He was sending someone to get some of her things, he had said. She wondered for a moment what he might have thought about her still carrying the gift he had made for her. She pushed it out of her mind. Her handbag was missing as well. It held her cell phone and her daybook. That book held a complete profile of her day-to-day activities and all her personal data. It was not a diary per se, but as good as if you wanted a snapshot of her life, her work and her plans.

Her mind was racing, tripping over itself, trying to process that this monster, this murdering psycho clown was Jack. Jack!

She pulled herself into a cross-legged position in the middle of the bed and took deep breaths to calm down, get a grip. She pictured him in her mind for a moment as he presented himself to her today – the scarred, demented killer- and the handful of times she had seen him on television, in the news. The infamous Joker of Gotham City. Never, never in a billion years would she have associated that psychopath with the sweet, sensitive, intelligent young student and chess prodigy from thirteen years ago. That young man was etched in her mind. His memory could still provoke a physical ache when she thought about him, even all these years later.

She had wondered so often if he had made out alright, if he had been able to rise above his financially and emotionally impoverished surroundings to become the man he could be; chess grandmaster, artist, poet, anything he wanted to be. He was like a diamond in the mud. If only circumstances had not taken her away as abruptly and as hopelessly as they had, she may have been able to help him get there.

Over the years, she had scoured the chess news, all the tournaments, in every country, for some sign that he had arrived in the upper echelons of his game. She had continued to look, even until last year. And then she gave it up. It was too disheartening. It was too much of a waste for her to comprehend.

Returning to Gotham some months ago, she had done a rudimentary search through the phone book, and on the internet, but it turned up nothing. It was like he had evaporated. Even if she had known where to find him, she doubted she would have approached him. The years that had passed, the gap in their ages, the obviously uncomfortable questions that would arise if she were to reappear….and now here he was. And she was his "guest", and possibly, probably, his victim.

She moved off the bed toward the closet. She opened the door that creaked like a coffin in a horror movie. There were a few items of clothing hung there, looking tired and neglected. All suits, all the worse for wear, and all his size. Above, on a ledge, there was an ancient lava lamp, a chess timer, and the chess board, resting upright against the wall. It was a beautiful burnished maple with ivory and deep green squares numbered and lettered along the edges for rank and file. Moving it into the light she could see the wear that spoke of heavy use.

She moved the lamp from the bedside table to one a little further away and set out the board – it fit perfectly. Then she began her way around the room, picking up the chess pieces that had been scattered to every corner in their altercation. The irony of her choice of weapon against this man began to dawn on her and then she was startled as laughter erupted from her, pouring out, unchecked, because of her overwhelming exhaustion from the day's events. She just gave into it until the last tired mirthless chuckle as she set up the board. She put the last pawn in place and then found a straight backed chair for her opponent.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the two armies facing each other – black and white. She turned the white side to herself. She would start. She wanted the advantage. She wondered if he had continued to study and play. She picked up the white knight and looked closely. There were traces of black and red, most definitely from his paint stained fingers. He had kept up. He would beat her soundly as he always did.


	4. Chapter 4 Dirty Laundry

The Endgame

Chapter Four

Dirty Laundry

Joker entered the large, but mostly neglected, kitchen on the main floor just as Charlie came through the back door, carrying a large duffle bag. Joker put out his hand and Charlie tossed him the keys on the chess keychain. Joker doffed them in his jacket pocket and took a chair at the table, looking at the bag expectantly.

"Whacha bring?"

"Some of her clothes, bathroom stuff, medication." Charlie plunked the bag onto the table top and unzipped it.

"Medication?" Joker frowned. "Pain killers?"

"Yup," Charlie pushed some of his long brown hair out of his eyes and rummaged around for a second, coming up with a few plastic pharmacy bottles. "And anti-depressants, I think." He handed them over.

Joker looked at them carefully. "This one's just Vitamin B. But these, oh yeah. She's a depressed little puppy. But half the world is on this crap nowadays. They should just learn to deal, you know? Like me? The world's a cesspool, people are animals and all the more reason to ah..stay _tuned_, play _attention_. But nooooo, they medicate themselves into a false sense of security. And they call me crazy." He concluded his little rant with a dismissive sniff.

Charlie watched him stand up and rummage through the bag, pulling out slips, camisoles, nightgowns, panties and bras before looking at him with a quizzical look.

"Didn't you bring anything else for her to wear? Do you think she's going to be walking around in her underwear all the time she's here?"

"Well," Charlie looked down as he thought, "I guess I thought that was what you wanted?"

Joker just stared at him, starting to form a reply but then just shook his head.

"Did you pick up the stuff at the store?"

"Yeah…"Charlie sighed and pulled out a plastic grocery bag containing a mauve cardboard box. "I don't even buy that shit for my wife." He muttered.

"Did you get the good ones? The ones with the …ah..wings?" Joker held his arms down close to his body and flapped his hands at his sides like he was ready to take off.

"Yesss." Charlie hissed and rolled his eyes.

"Good thing she writes everything down in that little book of hers." Joker picked up the grocery bag by an edge with thumb and forefinger and dropped it back into the duffle bag like it was toxic waste. "She can be prepared. Pictures?"

Charlie reached into his jacket pocket and tossed him a digital camera. "You're going to find those interesting, Boss. She's some kind of freak I gotta tell ya…" He stopped, wishing he could rewind and erase the word "freak". It was one that Joker had a negative reaction to. But Joker let it pass. He was back in the chair, concentrating on the camera. He turned it on and began to scroll through the pictures Charlie had taken at her apartment.

He was looking at a room that contained two desks and four computers by the look of it. It was decked out like some sort of command centre, walls covered with white boards crowded with numbers and notes. The desk tops were dominated by paperwork all neatly stacked. There were newspapers; he could count three or four different ones, spread out as well.

"Is this the office?" Joker put the camera on zoom to look more closely.

Charlie looked over his shoulder. "No, that's her living room, believe it or not. She seems to be either some sort of computer nerd or she's doing **_something _**illegal."

Joker zoomed in to the white boards and made out columns of numbers preceded by different currency symbols; Yen, Francs, Euros and Pounds among others. He recognized her small, terse handwriting on the boards and that the notes written there were brief and related to recent headlines in the news concerning Iran and Iraq and North Korea. There were line graphs and charts, some hand drawn and some printed and taped up from other sources. He moved to the desktop and could see that the paperwork was mostly financial statements of some kind. The newspapers were opened to the headlines and the financial pages. Stock market and foreign exchange figures. There were several clocks, all set at different times.

"Whad'ya make of that Boss?" Charlie was interested.

"I don't' know yet." Joker started to look at pictures of the other rooms. "I can't feature her doing anything illegal….."

"You know her then, from before?"

Joker moved the camera down and gave Charlie a look that clearly said he was getting a little too personal. The henchman reacted by changing the subject.

"Want me to go back for something else for her to wear?"

"No." Joker went back to the pictures. "Your little woman's about the same size. She can…ah…borrow. She needs to dress over that cast so watch anything with tight sleeves. Pick out something good. Some dresses, skirts…."

"She got nice legs?" Charlie thought it might lighten things up a little.

Joker ignored the question. "And a sweater. It's going to get cooler. What about her living arrangements. Husband? Roommate?"

"No sign of anyone else." Charlie reported. "All the clothing, all the mail, everything in the bathroom, suggests she lives alone."

Joker smiled to himself. "Well, well." He looked over at his associate. Charlie had ten years on him but it was amazing how he fell in line. He really was considered old in this line of work. He liked Charlie. He was more intelligent than his usual employees. That could be a problem at times but on the whole, he knew Charlie was loyal.

"Good work Columbo. Midget's on the overnight shift tonight, right? So, go home and fuck you wife. She's probably missing ya. Bring the clothes in tomorrow. "

"Right Boss." Charlie gave his trademark peace sign and left through the back door just as Midget was entering. The two men looked at each other. Midget glanced over to where Joker was looking at the pictures in the camera and back to Charlie.

"He's good." He reassured the smaller man. Midget nodded and walked into the kitchen as the door closed behind Charlie.

"Midget!" Joker greeted him enthusiastically. "Did you get that…ah….mess cleaned up okay?" He was, of course, referring to the remains of the unfortunate, but inept, Haldon.

"All done Boss. Thank god for leather seats. Wipes right off. The carpets were a little harder to clean up but it'll pass." He moved cautiously over to the table and took a seat across from Joker who was looking extremely untidy at this point in the day, war paint wearing off, hair out of control, and clothing dishevelled. He always waited for Joker to open the conversation. Doing otherwise could get you killed. Joker was unpredictable. A simple hello might be met with a blade or a bullet or a slap on the back, depending on how Joker interpreted your "tone". Midget made a mental note to look for other work tomorrow. He could do without the good pay if it meant he didn't have to look for more places to stash bodies.

"I need you to run over to that Italian place. Get two orders of that pasta I like, pick up a couple of bottles of good red wine and some cheesecake from that bakery on South. Get something for yourself." Midget began to rise up out of his chair but Joker continued. "Oh and don't get any ideas about leaving me cause I need you and you know too much and you want to live, right-t?"

It was uncanny. He did that all the time and it freaked them the hell out. It was like their thoughts ran across their foreheads like ticker tape and he just read it at his leisure.

"I wasn't… I didn't…..I wouldn't….." Midget spluttered but Joker just looked at him in a bored fashion.

"I'll take that as your declaration of _undying_ devotion. Ha!" He barked a laugh suddenly, "_undying – _get it? As in _not dead_. That's the whole point, isn't it?" Joker was tickled by his own little joke. Midget gave a little laugh but looked slightly ill as he saw his plan for alternate employment evaporate.

At least there was a woman of interest in the house tonight. While that didn't happen often, Joker usually preferred to "eat out", it probably meant that Midget would not be called out of his sleep tonight for any errands. The Boss would be preoccupied.

Midget left on his errand and Joker took the camera and the duffle bag up to his second floor office. He tossed them on the single bed where he spent the night sometimes when he was deep into planning a mission, and turned on the computer on his desk. While it booted up, he sat in his leather high-backed chair and opened the top drawer where he had stashed her day book for safe keeping. He flipped it open to the calendared pages to resume his reading. He hadn't had time to read everything. He had started at today's date and was working backwards.

She had little hand drawn symbols for things that took some decoding but he found it challenging. It amused him that she could be so cryptic. He had caught on that the circle with the dot in the middle meant her menstrual period. That was how he knew she was approaching her cycle in the next two days. It was all very carefully recorded. A tiny drawing of a house every month was her rent due, a lightning bolt for the electric bill and an asterisk in a circle that he hadn't figured out yet. He got an idea and flipped into the address and phone number section and started going through the contacts. There weren't many. Names that meant nothing to him, someone in New York simply named Hamilton, could be first or last name. And an entry for a clinic. It just said Dr. Jenson – the clinic. Now that was interesting. And there was the circled asterisk beside the phone number. He flipped back into the calendar and followed the asterisks. It seemed like he saw Dr. Jenson every two weeks. She had just seen him and was due to see him in another two weeks. The note was an asterisk at 1:30 p.m. and the words "roll the dice."

"What a twisted little corkscrew you're turning out to be." He mumbled to himself as he closed the book and tossed it on the desk. He turned to the computer and typed in his search. He had to refresh his memory a bit. He typed in "Stockholm Syndrome time required." He read and took notes on a pad he kept handy. He turned off the computer and tore off the notes, stuffing them into his pocket where his fingers encountered the keychain. He pulled it out and turned it over in his hand for inspection. The Black Queen. The piece was fairly beaten up and some points in the crown had broken off from use. It had travelled with her for over thirteen years. That meant that _he _had travelled with her, in a way, for that time as well. Across the ocean and back again.

* * *

Claire used the bathroom to freshen up, cleaning his blood from her face with a shudder. She used her fingers to comb her hair as all her grooming tools were in her handbag. She looked in the murky mirror and a tired, worried woman stared back at her. There was nothing much in the medicine cabinet. A box of bandages, some antiseptic and mouthwash. She took a sip directly from the bottle, swirled and spit. It made her feel a little fresher and the minty fragrance perked her up a bit. Her stomach was growling and she hoped he would make good on his promise of food.

Suddenly, she remembered something. She went over to the tub and shower area where she had been tossed earlier. She looked into the tub and spied the shard of broken glass as it twinkled back at her. She picked it up carefully and examined the edges. It was dangerously sharp. She walked over to the medicine cabinet and tried to reach the top of it, a surface that was higher than his eye level. She kneeled on the sink to reach higher and was able to slide the piece of glass on top for safe keeping.

Just at that moment, she heard the locks on the outside of the bedroom door being undone. She quickly moved into the bedroom to wait for him. She sat in an armchair by the boarded window, a position that was farthest from the door.

He hesitated a moment before entering, until he saw her across the room, and then came in. His arms were full of bags and a duffle bag and her handbag were slung over his shoulder. He had freshened up as well, she noted. His hair was combed, his war paint had been freshly applied and the starkness of the black and red against the white was startling.

He was wearing a dark grey suit with the familiar gold watch chain, a black vest over a deep gold shirt and a purple and green paisley tie. She couldn't help but note that he was a bit of a dandy dresser. He definitely had a style that was his own. He kicked the door closed behind him and tossed her the handbag. She stood and caught it gratefully with her good arm. She immediately began to go through the contents.

He placed the duffle on the floor and pulled the empty table over to where she was sitting, placing the bags on top. The savoury aroma of Italian food wafted through the room. He produced two bottles of wine and some glasses from one bag. Some dishes and utensils from another along with napkins and some crusty bread.

"Your things are in the duffle. Ah, you're a little low on real clothes but you got your nighty nights to sleep in." He sounded cordial, like this was a sleepover instead of a kidnapping. He glanced over to the chess board, all set and waiting.

"Nice." He looked back at her, giving her what must be one of his most charming grins. "I can't wait to play with someone who can challenge me. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm going to kick you ass but at least I'll get a fight."

"Are we talking about chess?" She blurted before she could censor herself.

His eyes widened at the remark and he snorted a little laugh, pointing at her with glee.

"There! There it is. I was waiting for that …ah…._sarcasm_. I was wondering when it would come out to play. Haven't lost your sense of humour, hmmm?" He cocked an eyebrow at her as he pulled up a chair across from her to begin their meal. He put a plate in front of her and took the cover off of a steaming dish of what looked like the most delicious pasta she had ever seen. He watched her reaction to the food.

"Someone's hungry. It's pasta Florentine. I always get him to throw some chicken in there, too. I'm not a veggie. It's from the best place in Gotham." He heaped her plate full and tore off a piece of bread and handed it to her. "Eat up, Crumpet. Must keep up your strength. Oh, speaking of which, I brought your meds." He retrieved the bottles from his jacket pocket and put them by her plate. He watched her reaction carefully as he uncorked the wine and poured her a glass. "Want some H2O to take those with?"

She picked up the vitamins and pulled off the top. She downed one pill with a sip of wine. She ignored the other bottles and picked up a fork in her left hand, resting her casted right arm on the table. "No. I'm not taking anything right now."

He frowned at that and poured himself some wine. "But what about your pain?"

"Under control." She mumbled as she took her first bite of the delicious food, savouring the taste.

"The depression?" He asked casually.

She stopped eating and stared at the plate, her mouth drawn into a hard line like she was fighting against what? Tears? Shouting? Laughing? God, she was so hard to read.

She let the comment pass and took the bottles and placed them in her handbag.

"My book is missing." She changed the subject and looked at him accusingly.

"Oh, I've got it." He assured her calmly. "Fascinating reading. I have to keep it for a little bit longer. Just gettin' to the good part." He wrinkled his nose and nodded like she understood perfectly.

He watched her handle the fork with her left hand and then he closed his eyes and slapped his forehead like he just remembered something important.

"Of course. I forgot. You're a south paw. That's why you were able to aim so well with your right arm in a cast." He pointed to his head to remind her of what she had done.

"Did you need stitches?" She asked demurely, almost smugly.

"No, I didn't need stitches." He mimicked her higher voice and her accent as well as her rather snotty tone.

She couldn't help it. She smiled a little at his annoyance. He cast her a dark look and went back to the food.

She watched him for a moment while he ate. He seemed to have fairly decent table manners which surprised her. He caught her watching him and looked at her, cocking his head to the side in a questioning manner.

"You're staring. I might get the idea you're flirting." He smiled at her in a cocky way that made her mouth relax into something that was almost, but not quite, a smile.

"What's on your mind there Rosebud?"

She continued to watch him, trying to see Jack. His height was no surprise. He had been tall for his age at fifteen. She had always looked up to him. He had grown into a very impressive man, physically. His height and build was athletic and lean. The type who wore clothes well.

The hair, now that it was combed and looked cleaner, was distinctive, not only because of it's odd colour, but because it framed his impressive forehead and the naturally curly tendrils that refused to submit to grooming teased his cheekbones and crept down into his soot-encircled brown eyes in a way that was somewhat beguiling.

The dark eyes were bright and hooded just as she remembered but they seemed quicker now, and had more of a tendency to narrow and squint when he watched her. The nose was most definitely Jack. It was blunt at the tip, giving him the distinctive profile that she finally recognized in the bathroom. The chin was Jack. He had always had a strong jaw line that gave him a look of earnest. That brought her to the mouth that had been so cruelly ravaged by something or someone to create the scarring that bloomed from the edges and out onto what used to be his flawless cheeks. The thought of how he might have gotten them or what he would have suffered because of them made her stomach drop a little and her appetite waned just a bit. The crimson paint that covered his natural mouth carelessly continued out onto the scars giving him the trademark permanent grin. But she concentrated on his own mouth, the one between the scars. It was lush and expressive as always. She really needed to see Jack the man, without the paint, so she could separate him from _her_ Jack.

"Are you looking at the scars Pumpkin?" He wished she would speak. He didn't like having to guess like this. "Do they upset you?"

"Why do you wear that stuff on your face when you're with me? I already know who you are." She went back to eating, trying to remember that this might be Jack but he was also the Joker. She could not forget that, not for a second. Her survival might depend on it.

He seemed taken by surprise by the question.

"Because it's who I am." He answered easily.

"What if I want to see you without it?"

"Why?"

"Because I might want to talk to Jack and not to …. _him_." And then she added, quietly. "And I'm not upset by them."

"What?" He lost her train of thought.

"I'm not upset by the scars." She clarified, avoiding eye contact.

He seemed to consider that for a moment and then leaned in a little closer,

"But I scare you."

"**_He_** does. Yeah."

"He is me. You make it sound like there're two different people here. I don't suffer from any _dissociative_ disorder if that's what you saying. I'm a psychopath but that's singular, Honey Bee, not plural. How's the wine?"

She just stared at him for a moment and then took another sip to please him. "It's fine."

"Fine? Just fine?" He looked annoyed.

"It's the best red wine in the entire known universe." She announced dryly. "Okay?"

"That's better." He smirked at her. "How'd you break that wing?" He nodded toward her cast.

"I was rescuing a cat up a tree in front of my apartment. He wasn't in the mood for rescuing, hissed at me, caught me off guard. I fell and …" She wobbled her cast to tell the rest of the story.

"Should you really be climbing trees at your age?" He admonished her gently, exaggerating his concern.

She stared at him with a degree of hostility that was absolutely chilling. Silence.

"So, you have a cat?" He looked interested.

"No. It belongs to my landlady."

"That was nice of you."

"I would do anything for Doris. She's a saint."

"The cat's name is Doris?"

"No, my landlady. She's like family to me. I owe her big time." Claire said seriously. After a pause, she made a request. "You know where I live, obviously. Please don't harm her."

"Why would I harm her?" He said it like she was being unreasonable.

"You don't seem to need a reason." She said quietly.

"When does the cast come off?" He changed the course of the conversation quickly.

"In about a week." She remembered something. "I have to see the doctor in a week to take this off."

"Dr Jenson?" He inquired, watching her for the reaction.

"No. Dr. Fritz." She frowned at him, obviously not happy with his prying. "Dr. Jenson is someone I see for … something else."

"Psychiatrist?"

"No." She said it emphatically and he sensed resistance to this line of questioning. No problem, there was always the internet. He loved the internet.

"Well, not to worry." Joker picked up a piece of chicken on his fork, and waved it at her. "I know how to remove a cast. It'll come off on time."

"You're saying I'll be here that long?" She looked alarmed.

"Someone gonna miss ya?"

"There's my work." She looked distressed. "I can't leave it for long."

"Because?" He really wanted that front room of hers explained.

"Because it's time-sensitive work. I need to be on it 24/7. Things change so fast…"

"So you don't teach anymore?"

"No. Not since we….. since that day." She was having difficulty explaining and while she tried to find a way to talk about it, he was busy turning it all over in his mind again; the currencies, the headlines, the clocks set for different times – time zones? - and then it clicked into place like a jig-saw.

"You trade currency." He said, waiting for her confirmation.

"That's right."

"Like the forex market?"

"Yes."

"Who do you work for?"

"I work for myself." She looked hopeful, like he would understand why she had to go back.

"You're a day trader?"

"Yes, exactly."

"And you make a living doing this?"

"I do okay. It's hard work but I do okay." She nodded.

"You trade all currencies – in all countries – on a daily basis?" His enthusiasm had her a bit confused but she confirmed it with a nod.

"Oh shit! Shit!" He hopped around in his chair like a kid about to get a present. "I should get you to do my laundry."

"Your….what?" It took her a moment to understand what he was saying and then she looked at him sideways and put her hand out as though warding him off. "Oh, no, no! I'm not a criminal. I have enough to deal with. You can do your own _laundry_."

"Christ, this is like talking to the Bat. You don't get it do you?" He looked at her like she was hopeless. "When I get an idea, it's not up for debaaate. This is not a democracy and you don't get a vote. I declare – it is. I want – I get. I ask – you giiiive. Get it-t?"

"I refuse – you kill." She put a fine point on it, glumly.


	5. Chapter 5 Openings

The Endgame

Chapter Five

Openings

Claire sat down on the bedside to take the white side of the board. Joker carried both of their wine glasses over with him and handed hers to her cordially as he pulled up the chair to seat himself behind the black army.

Even though there was a timer in the closet, she didn't mention it. She remembered how he hated playing against a clock.

"So, you're white? Want the first move, eh?" He teased as he took off his jacket, hung it on the back of his chair, and rolled up the sleeves of his saffron coloured shirt, getting down to business. She noticed the strap of some purple suspenders peaking out from one shoulder of his vest. Dandy dresser, yes indeed.

"It's only polite, seeing as I'm your guest." She reminded him, putting her wine glass off to the side of the board, wiggling the fingers of her left hand reflexively, getting ready for the battle.

He watched her shift down onto the bed, getting ready, her eyes darting all over the board as if she was already plotting twenty moves ahead. He had to admit to himself that, so far, this was the best part of having her here; the prospect of a challenging game of chess. There were drawbacks to being the best at something in the absence of any serious opponents. There was little reason to continue being good. He only loved the game when he was challenged. Her mind was one of the few that could bring that to the board. Her sharp, amazing mind. She had obviously kept that passion alive. And in that moment, he felt the old intrigue creeping back into the atmosphere around them. The one big thing they shared had not gone away after all.

"So…ah….get going there. It's your opening. Do you still study openings?"

She looked at him, her hand hovering over the bishop's pawn. "Yes. And I suppose you still study endgames?"

"It's all that matters. I told ya a million times, Pigeon. You can open any way you want but it's the endgame that counts. Even if you're down to two lowly pawns and the king, it's the endgame that matters."

She moved her pawn ahead two spaces and gave him a despairing look.

"How you open is what matters. It sets the tone; it starts the whole thing in motion. Things that are done in the opening cannot be taken back."

"So, what's _that_ the start of?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Leningrad? Sicilian?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" The wine was loosening her up, making her bold.

He moved his king's knight out, almost, it appeared, without thought.

"Ignoring your pawn structure as usual I see." She thought out loud as she plotted her next move. And your knight's on the rim – that's grim." She chanted a common chess saying that made him smile.

"Your move …oh, and have some more wine. I like the effect it has on you."

"Which is?"

"It makes you reckless. I like that."

"You've drunk more than me." She pointed out as she moved another pawn out to meet his army.

"I can hold more." He reasoned, "But, I think I _**am **_getting a bit drunk…..know how I can tell?"

She just shrugged.

"I can tell I'm getting drunk because I, ah, I'm starting to dig your accent-t." He nodded at her like it was a well-known fact.

"Oh." She nodded back at him, playing along, not giving him the satisfaction of acting offended. She focused her attention back on the board and on his next move.

He moved another knight out, bold as brass, again without the slightest hint of forethought or strategy.

"Your knights are running ahead of your foot soldiers." She shook her head. "What sense does that make in a battle?"

He leaned in a little closer across the board, as if telling her a secret. He looked around and then informed her, seriously. "It means my knights aren't pussies." He waited a few seconds and then laughed uproariously for a whole minute while he tried to regain his concentration and composure. She looked at him in a curious way, trying to remember if this was the old Jack or something new. He had always had a good sense of humour but she was fairly sure that the younger Jack did not laugh as easily or so totally with abandon as this man did. The Jack she had known was more reserved and could even be dour at times when things where weighing on his mind. Then again, he was an adolescent at the time. They tended to be moody.

"Or they're suicidal." She offered rationally, as he awaited her next move, licking his right scar absent-mindedly. She wondered if this was unconscious, this curious tick he had about licking his lips and the corners of his scarred mouth. It didn't bother her that much. It just made her more aware of what he had experienced since she had last spent time like this with him. And it made her agitated. She wanted to know but didn't want to ask about those scars.

She looked at her wine and pushed it away for the moment. It _was_ making her reckless, just as he said. Was she a fool? Here she was with a known criminal, psychopath and murderer, demonstrated right before her eyes earlier, and she was drinking? Talk about suicidal. She straightened up and tried to concentrate on her predicament. The game became secondary for the moment. How was she going to get out of here alive? She pushed another pawn out for certain slaughter and put her chin in her left hand, lost in thought for the moment.

"Too timid. Too, too timid." He admonished her. "And you're not concentrating on the centre. By the endgame, you'll be all over the place, with no outposts and pawn islands dotted here, there, everywhere. I'll walk right over you." He nodded at her sagely, finally trotting out a black pawn to challenge her in the middle.

He watched her quietly; the light in the room was soft as the evening had fully enveloped the world outside. It was silent except for some distant Gotham traffic and the faint wail of sirens going off in the Narrows.

She had a flush in her cheeks from the wine and he noticed that she still had that fair British complexion that seemed nearly poreless. It contrasted with the dark wavy hair that tumbled over her creamy bare shoulders exposed by the sleeveless shirt. Her mouth that was pursed in concentration was full and dark pink, nearly ruby, stained a little by the wine, and he marveled at how little she had changed. Any signs of aging, like a slight weight gain, only seemed to enhance the loveliness that he remembered so very well. When she shifted a certain way to study the board, the open top button on her black shirt offered a peak at the pale swell of her left breast, delicate collarbone, and an expanse of ivory throat gently, almost imperceptibly, throbbing with her pulse.

Her dark, jungle green eyes, looked heavy and tired but that look of sleepiness only added to the feeling of intimacy that was beginning to distract him from the game. He had wondered if the sensual aura that had once surrounded her like a rosy halo would have faded with the years; erased by maturity on his part and years of experience with the opposite sex. She suddenly stood up and walked away from him toward the bathroom and he took in the sight of her; dark hair cascading down her back almost to the small waist and the full, womanly curve of her hips, and he felt the first stirrings that answered his question. Nothing had changed in that regard. He still wanted her more than any other woman on the planet.

"What are you doing?" He shook off the reverie for a moment to remind her of the situation.

She turned slightly as she approached the bathroom. "I'm using the facilities?" She said shyly.

"Leave the door open." She looked alarmed so he added. "Well, leave it ..ajar. I want to know what you're up to in there."

"But, you'll hear…." She didn't finish but frowned and he knew what she meant.

He bit back a laugh at her dilemma and then waved her away to the bathroom to get to it. "Look, I'll hum to myself out here. I won't hear you _**tinkling **_in there. Not that that would be so bad….I am aware that you have a bladder." He tried to hold back the laughter that was sneaking up again. She looked so violated. She turned again to make her way to the washroom.

"Oh, ah, Claire?"

"What?" She looked back again, over her shoulder.

"I love your ass."

She turned away from him and kept moving toward the bathroom, stopping at the door.

"You were going to hum?" She reminded him.

"Oh yeah." He broke his stare and went back to looking at the board, He quietly began to hum a tune, almost to himself but she could hear him and recognized another Beatles tune. He must have been listening to the White Album recently. This time is was Happiness Is a Warm Gun. He broke into the lyrics and sang softly, but perfectly in tune in his warm baritone.

"She's not a girl who misses much  
Do do do do do do, oh yeah  
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand  
Like a lizard on a window pane

The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors  
On his hobnail boots  
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy  
Working overtime"

He went back to humming the tune as he listened for signs of activity in the other room. He heard the flush and then the sink running. Washing her hands like a good girl. She emerged right after the water stopped, avoiding any need for him to make a move. She walked back to her place and sat back down. He was watching her intently, taking another sip of wine, narrowing his eyes. He pushed her glass of wine closer to her left hand but she pushed it away again and looked away from him, back to the board.

"Whose turn was it?" She asked quietly, sensing a change in the atmosphere.

"I have some questions about the last time we were together and the shit storm that ensued-d." He informed her, the playfulness gone from his voice.

"If I answer them, will it get me home faster?" She finally looked at him again and bit her bottom lip, wary of his change in demeanour. She watched his hands for any sign of that god awful knife.

"Oh, you don't understand Sugar Buns." He sighed like her stupidity was exasperating for him. "There's no negotiating. You will answer. Will it get you home faster? That depends."

"Depends on what?" .

"Stop it." He warned her evenly. "I'm asking the questions here. Not. You."

She went silent and started tracing her finger around the cross and crown on her white king. Anything to keep from looking at him. With that tone, and the painted face, he frightened her. She knew she had to stop being so afraid if she was going to leave this situation alive. But, this man, this Joker, could suck every last molecule of oxygen right out of the room. She looked at his hands again, without his gloves, and close to the chess pieces. Those were Jack's hands, she told herself. This was Jack. She took a deep breath and looked back to his face and dared to look right into those kohl ringed stormy eyes. She waited and dreaded what he would want to know. She knew he would sense any lie she might try to offer so she resolved to tell the truth and get it over with.

"Why did you disappear?"

"I didn't have much say in the matter." She picked up the king and worried it with her fingers as she studied it and tried to put her thoughts together, going back in her mind and thinking of things that she had tried to leave in the past, unsuccessfully. "They literally took me away and well, I was arrested."

He sat back in his chair and frowned at her, unsure of what she had just said.

"Arrested? You mean…."

"Arrested." She repeated. "As in legally detained. Incarcerated."

"Why?" There was a degree of amazement in his question.

"Because of what we did. What I allowed you to do. It was against the law. I was your teacher and you were underage." She explained quietly, not looking at him, concentrating on the chess piece in her hand.

"You went to jail?"

No answer.

"Claire? Look at me." He commanded and reached across to snatch the king out of her hand roughly.

She looked at him reluctantly and started to feel light-headed.

"Breathe for Christ's sake. What is it with you?"

"You're scaring me." She said honestly. "You scare the living shit out of me with that paint and …. God, I don't want to talk about this. Please just let it go?"

"You went to jail." He didn't let up, urging her on. He motioned to his chest and gulped the air, reminding her to avoid her tendency to hyperventilate. She took deep, even breaths.

"For a time, yes." She knew there was no getting him off this track. She closed her eyes and just dove in. "They kept me, put me through some tests…"

"What kind of tests?"

"Psychological tests." She needed to just get it over with now. "They decided that I was mentally unstable and I was given the choice of jail or …. "

"Or?"

"Arkham." She finally got past that word.

He looked at her sideways, squinting his blackened eyes, trying to decide if she was telling the truth.

"How long were you there?"

"Seven….seven months."

"Seven _**months?**_"

"Yes."

"In Arkham Asylum."

"Yes."

"For letting a hormone driven, lust drunk, almost sixteen year old, dry-hump you in an empty classroom? Did they not _**get**_ that I wasn't doing anything I didn't want to do? You didn't seduce me. I told them that. I told them I was old enough and experienced enough to know what I was doing and that it was my idea. We didn't even really fuck. Didn't even take our clothes off….."

"They didn't care. All they cared about is that I was in a position of power and you were under-age. And I wasn't exactly … fighting you off." She looked down when she said that, unable to look him in the eyes.

"But Arkham is for the criminally insane! _**I've **_been in Arkham."

"I know." She remembered mention of that in a news piece. "Since what I did was against the law, a _**criminal**_ offence, and they decided I was suffering from some mental illness – I belonged in Arkham."

"What mental illness?" He was still incredulous, close to outrage at the thought of it.

"I tested positive for anti-social personality disorder."

"What? You? Anti-social…oh, come on!"

"No, no. It's true. I'm very low-grade, high-functioning, but it was all right there, in the results. Trouble with authority, lack of empathy, a tendency to not always tell the truth and I had a prior offence, a few years before in England. Some shop-lifting. Stupid thing, really. But it all came out at the time and just added to the mess."

"What about your father, in England? Couldn't he have done something?"

She waited a moment, staring off in the distance, gathering her thoughts on the matter before speaking.

"They called him. They said that if he would assume custody, I could go back to England and serve a few months of house arrest there with his supervision and get counseling there."

"And?"

"When they told him what had happened. With you. He said I had made my bed and that I should bloody well lie in it."

"Not exactly Daddy's girl, huh?"

"I embarrassed the family you see. I had already done that with the shoplifting thing. Which he told them about. They had no idea. The offence didn't follow me here. But he brought it up – didn't help. He felt I should get help here and face my problems head on, pay the price." She looked back at him and sighed. "I was a difficult child."

"Way to hold a grudge. And in Arkham. What happened there? I mean, what was _**your**_experience at Jeremiah's camp for crazies?"

Claire closed her eyes and took a long breath before answering.

"I made the mistake of thinking it would be better than jail. It was… well, I still can't believe … it was some kind of waking nightmare. The people there and the doctors and the drugs. You have no rights there. You're less than a human being. Human garbage, maybe. I can't believe that place still stands. It's still there." She looked at him. "You know, don't you."

He gave a mirthless chuckle and suddenly grinned, showing all his teeth.

"People just assume I got my corncob smile from years of smoking. How old do they think I am? I'd have to have begun smoking in the damn delivery room to get that much staining. No, no. This was a drug experiment, courtesy of the geniuses at Arkham, that went, ah, slightly wroooong. They gave me some sort of new, untested concoction that was supposed to clear my mind, make me remember, make me go "sane". All it did was stain my teeth yellow and gave me a headache so bad I was ready to saw my own head off if I would have had a knife. The headache went away after they took me off but the teeth – did not recover."

She had wondered about the teeth. She was surprised that he had shared this with her.

"That's terrible." She relaxed a little as he seemed to have moved out of his earlier mood and more into one that was more companionable.

"No, no. I don't mind now. I mean, I could have them covered. I can afford veneers easily. But, something about the teeth kinda freaks people out in a way that just sort of tickles me, ya know?" He gave her a grin to convince her.

She put her chin on her hand and looked at him wearily.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when your mother died. I didn't even know about it until months later. I would have been there if I could have." She sounded sad and sincere.

He looked at the chess piece he had confiscated from her and started to chuckle softly, something finally coming into focus after all those years.

"I wrote to you. They told me you were in New York. They wouldn't give me an address. But I gave the letters to Eddy Freeman, the guidance counselor, sealed. He promised he would mail them off to you, unopened."

"I never got any…"

"Of course not. It was a lie. I can see that now. They just wanted me to stop asking about you. I wrote nearly every day. And I never heard back. They wanted me to think you had left and that you had ended it. Easiest way to get me to shut up about it, I guess. I had no idea that you were in trouble with the law. I never heard a thing or read anything in the papers about you being charged."

"I think the school arranged to keep it quiet. Bad publicity you know?" She wondered how angry he must have been to think she had just walked away from him at a time like that. She remembered so vividly some of the talks they had about his mother and the illness that was nudging her to a slow, painful death. He was dealing with much more than any boy should have to at that time. He was trying to take care of his mother, see to her impossible needs and at the same time tolerating his alcoholic and abusive monster of a father who weaved in and out of their lives making a tragic situation unbearable.

"I am so sorry about your mother." She repeated quietly.

He gave his head a violent shake as she had noticed him do before.

"Well, the pain ended for her." He concluded neatly, pushing his tongue hard inside his mouth at his scars. He reached over and placed the white king back on his square in front of her and his hand came very close to hers for a second. He swept out his fingers just briefly to brush the tips against hers softly before sitting back in his chair to look at her, a playful look returning to his painted features.

"So, aren't we a pair?" He gestured to himself with a hand against his vest. "Psycho." And then moved the hand to gesture toward her. "And…..Psycho _**Lite**_."

"I'm not so psycho anymore, apparently." She protested gently. "My symptoms were on the mild side and I've been told that sociopaths mellow with age. So, I'm near normal now, whatever that is. I'm older, you know?"

"Forty-one" He nodded and then he seemed to suddenly remember something. "Hey….I'm way over legal age now. You know what that means?" He raised his eyebrows and gave her a rather salacious grin.

"You can buy your own booze and cigarettes?" She guessed and grabbed another pawn, moving it two spaces to the centre.

He erupted into a fit of giggling that brought tears to his sooty eyes. She just waited, smirking, while he regained composure. Then his black bishop came out of nowhere and took her pawn.

"And the slaughter begins." He continued to laugh softly, taking delight in her confusion as she went over the moves on the board.

"Well, you've got a clear advantage you know?"

"Ah what, Baby. How am I taking advantage?" He gave her an exaggerated pout to feign concern for her upset at the loss of her pawn.

"You scare the daylights out of me. I can't concentrate when I'm looking for knives to pop out and threats and that … that make-up."

"War paint." He corrected her and tossed her pawn over his shoulder nonchalantly.

"I'd really like to see your face."

"Here it is, Darlin'. Right on the front of my head."

"You know what I mean." She said quietly, studying the board for her next move.

"You want to see Jack."

"Yes, I'd love to see Jack."

"Well, I hate to break it to ya, Gum Drop but …" His voice seemed to drop an octave and turned to pure grit. "Jack is dead."

"Then who are you behind that mask?" She wondered at why she took such offence to what he said. It disturbed her and she turned it over in her mind as she waited for him to reply.

"Oh, that would be Joker." His voice moved up, took on that slight sing-song quality. "_**The**_ Joker. Some of my employees just call me J. As a matter of fact, maybe you should get used to calling me something other than Jack, especially in front of the help."

Was he that sick? Did he truly believe that Jack was dead? She pushed her bishop out to a neutral position. Earlier, he was the one to remind her that he wasn't two different people. She looked over at him and he was watching her, tongue teasing his left scar in a thoughtful way. The dark pits of his eyes challenged her.

"It's your move….._**Jack**_." She said it clearly and forcefully, reacting to some of the anger she felt at his declaration of his own death.

"Oh, you're asking for it. You're really asking for it-t." He bit his bottom lip hard, and she watched him carefully. It wasn't real. He wasn't really angry. Not this time. It didn't reach his eyes. He moved a pawn and without a beat, she castled her king.

"You never castle." He observed dryly, with a hint of confusion.

"And …only _**Jack**_ would know that." She shot back.


	6. Chapter 6 Rules Are Rules

The Endgame

Chapter Six

Rules Are Rules

After her sly remark about Jack, he had gone quiet and concentrated on the game for a bit, moving through her ranks, confiscating knights, a bishop, a rook and two pawns, leaving her just as he predicted, with pawn islands and no outposts. Her king was virtually undefended at the moment and his pieces were positioned to attack from several different angles. This had all happened in the span of less than a half hour. He played more quickly now, she observed, taking only a fraction of the time it took for her to make a move.

During her contemplation of her moves, he hummed softly to himself, all sorts of songs, most that she could recognize, some not. It seemed second nature for him to be constantly amusing himself with the sound of his own voice. As well as the humming, she could feel his eyes on her, could feel his gaze moving over her. She was detecting something, not exactly sinister, but rather intimate in the atmosphere around them.

Her thoughts took her back to the times long ago when she had felt the sexual tension in the air as they played. Each time she looked up, Jack was looking at her in that sweet, open way he had. His physical yearning was palpable and she had wrestled with her own response to the silent invitation he was constantly offering her. She was not, then or now, an overly sexual woman. The act meant very little to her and she didn't have any trouble reigning in her libido and doing without. Years on anti-depressants of all sorts had dampened her sexual response to the point of near non-existence. But back then, his invitation, and the idea of engaging in that type of communion with young Jack, was the most intense attraction she had ever felt. She knew it was wrong on many levels, but nevertheless, she had acknowledged it to herself and struggled with, if not exactly against, it. With his height, his deep voice and brilliant intelligence, she could easily forget that according to the calendar, he was not yet sixteen years old. Back in the present, she did not dare look up at him. She wasn't sure what she would see in those enigmatic black eyes.

She reached out to move her remaining bishop, her fingertips teasing the pointed head as she chewed on the inside of her cheek in concentration. She lifted her hand slowly away and instead went to the pawn.

His humming stopped and he cleared his throat.

"Ah…you touched your bishop, Claire Bear. That's a commitment. Move the bishop, Darling."

"But, I just…"

"Uh, uh, uh….rules are rules." He admonished her soundly. Then he chuckled, reaching across to take her chin in his hand, making her look at him. He used two fingers of his other hand to point to his eyes and then to hers and back and forth in an "I have my eye on you" gesture. She rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away gently. He sat back and continued to giggle softly. He stood up and swung one leg over the back of his chair to turn toward the door. . "I need coffee…badly. I don't have a big honking espresso machine downstairs, like you do, but I'll see what I can rustle up."

"You were at my apartment?"

"No. no. But I saw the pictures. That is a beautiful machine. You'll have to treat me sometime. Lots of foam." He pointed at her expectantly. "How do you take it again?"

"Black." They both said it together at the same time. And he laughed at her, teasing. "I didn't forget." Then he pointed at the board and his voice dropped lower.

"Don't you dare touch that board when I'm gone. I'll know. And then I'll have to kill you."

She looked at him seriously, wondering how he could joke about something that was not a joke at all, under the circumstances. He looked down at her, watching for her reaction. His mouth wasn't smiling but his eyes were another matter. He was toying with her. Still, she didn't appreciate the cavalier way he threatened her.

"Do you still have that knife on you?" She studied his vest for tell tale signs.

"Cupid never leaves my person."

"You named your knife Cupid?"

"Not meeee. It's called a Cupid by the maker. And…." He reached behind his back and instantly, it appeared in his right hand, blade out, sparkling in the low light. He caressed the palm of his left hand with the flat of the blade as his eyes narrowed with something akin to lust at the touch against his skin.

"Do you ever accidently cut yourself carrying that thing around all the time?"

"Yup. You concerned for me?" He tilted his head on an angle to appear touched by her inquiry.

"Not at all - I assure you." She tried on her coldest, most disinterested tone.

He considered her reply for a moment, then smacked his lips loudly, as if dismissing what she said with disdain. The cupid snapped back in its sheath and disappeared as quickly as it had made an appearance. He turned and walked toward the door. It was her turn to study him. He moved with the ease of a panther, all long-limbed and loose. From the back, she noted his longish green and blonde curls caressing his slightly hunched shoulders. The vest defined his torso to the small waist. His suit pants fit loosely over long lean legs and a very tight bottom. The type of ass you would normally see on a dancer or swimmer. By all accounts, his lifestyle was not conducive to good nutrition or any normal exercise regime. Must be good genes, she decided, enjoying his long lean physique.

"Not at all – I assure you." He mimicked her accent and tone, with a shake of his head side to side and a rather effeminate gesture of his left wrist as he reached the door. If it was designed to make her angry, it had the opposite effect, as Claire clasped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He looked over his shoulder at her before opening the door and repeated to her in shorthand. "Board. Do not touch."

"I understand." She answered, crossing her arm and cast in a resigned manner.

"Ah…were you looking at my ass just now?"

"No." She lied.

"Did I mention it's now legal?"

"Yes you did."

"And?"

"And I want that coffee." She studied her nails to avoid his gaze.

He hung his head and gave a very dramatic sigh, opening the door and exiting.

As she listened to him manipulate the locks and chains on the outside, she allowed herself to wonder if he was serious or if he was teasing with the flirtations that had taken place several times since her arrival. He liked to make her uncomfortable and what better way to keep her off centre than to make her think he was contemplating a continuation and consummation of their former relationship. Yet, her instincts, her intuition, were telling her that something was, indeed, brewing, besides the coffee. She could feel it coming off of him in waves and deep down, she had to admit, even in all his psychopathic scarred glory, he was a very intriguing man. Of course, even with her track record of impulsivity and risky behaviour, allowing him to cross that line, under these circumstances, was not possible. She would have to overcome her tendency to get swept up in the thrill of mischief and keep her feet firmly planted on sensible, less life-threatening ground. All those years of therapy would have to come to her rescue now, not only from him, but from herself.

Even now, with his direct order to refrain from tampering with the board, she felt an almost uncontrollable compulsion to do just that. She knew that he would notice it readily as he had demonstrated a nearly photographic memory as an adolescent. But, still, since she had been specifically ordered to _**not**_ do something, her dysfunctional nature was to immediately buck authority and do just exactly what was forbidden. She even wondered if he had given the order as a kind of sick dare. She was well aware that he was manipulative, that much was obvious so far. She finally had to get up from the board and move away to distract herself somehow.

She went and sat in the armchair by the window to await his return. The duffle bag with her belongings was still on the floor and she reached down and unzipped the top to have a look at what had been brought for her. She pawed through almost every article of underwear she owned, two nightgowns and some pyjama bottoms. Her make-up bag was in there along with shampoo and conditioner, and surprisingly, a couple of her pink disposable razors. Reaching for her blow dryer, her fingers encountered a plastic grocery bag and she pulled it out to have a look at the contents. A box of sanitary napkins. Not her brand. It was a new, unopened box with the register receipt still in the bag. He had sent someone to buy this for her. Not a chance he picked it up himself. But how did he know that she would need them? Her mind was so very tired from the day's experiences that it took her a moment to realize. Her daybook. He figured out her code. He knew she was expecting her period. She felt her face flush at the idea of him providing this for her. Thoughtful maybe but she felt oddly violated. She wondered what else he had figured out from her daybook scribbling.

* * *

Reaching the kitchen, Joker could smell fresh coffee. Midget was sitting at the kitchen table with several guns spread out, cleaning fluid and rags. Joker spied the fresh pot of coffee on the counter and grinned, rubbing his hands together.

"Midget! I could kiss you. I was just coming down to grab some java and what to my wondering eyes should appear?"

Midget had just brewed the pot for himself but didn't bother to mention it as Joker got busy finding mugs, pouring and dumping what looked like five or six spoons of sugar into what must be his own cup. The other he left black and steaming. He worked busily, making noise and mess.

"Have we got any cookies or biscuits or something to go with this?" Joker searched the cupboards over the kitchen sink.

"I don't think so." Midget said slowly, watching his boss with his back to him, so very busy searching for a late night snack. "Want me to go and fetch something?" Midget offered, almost unconsciously raising the Glock and taking aim between Joker's shoulder blades, just a little to the left.

"Wouldn't shoot me in the back would ya? That's just …." Joker turned and the gun hit the table, falling from the startled henchman's hand. "…cold."

The smaller man looked at Joker like he was possessed. How had he seen?

Joker walked over and rapped his knuckles on the man's forehead like he was knocking on a door. "Hello? Kitchen window. Reflection. You idiot."

"It isn't loaded." Midget offered lamely, watching Joker's hands like they were vipers about to strike.

"I know." Joker said in a most understandingly mocking way. "But, it's the sentiment - the _**gesture**_ - that concerns me."

He reached out and picked up the Glock. It was true, there was no ammo.

"What about the Magnum? Loaded?"

Midget nodded to the affirmative. Joker picked it up, clicked off the safety, and twirled it like a gunslinger, stopping to point it straight between Midget's wide and staring blue eyes.

Joker grinned, gleefully sinister. Midget was frozen in place at the table. He didn't even dare to blink. His breath was coming in short puffs of terror.

"Ya know, there's a lady upstairs. She's waiting for me. If not for her, I'd pull this trigger……." He frowned like he was in a dilemma as to what to do. "Ah, what the hell, she's already seen me smoke a guy." He squeezed the trigger a tiny bit and watched Midget close his eyes and swallow hard. After several seconds of complete silence, Midget dared to open them again and he was alone at the table. Joker, the coffee and the gun were gone.

* * *

Joker entered the bedroom again, two coffees in his hands, and kicked the door shut behind him. He looked annoyed that she wasn't sitting at the board and gestured with his head for her to get back to her place on the edge of the bed. She stuffed the box hurriedly back into the duffle bag and then returned to her seat at the board. He quickly surveyed the pieces on the board to make sure she had behaved herself. Satisfied, he handed her a mug and sat back down across from her. She noticed that his vest was undone and he had a gun tucked into his left suspender strap. Her eyes widened and he followed her gaze.

"Relax. It's not for you. The help is acting a little strangely tonight. I don't want to get ambushed. And I have to protect you." He said reasonably.

"And who will protect me from _**you**_?"

He just shook his head like she was being very silly and changed the subject.

"Let's take a little break here and enjoy our coffee. I want to know what happened after Arkham. Why no post cards?"

"It was a condition of my release that I not contact you again. I couldn't risk it. It bothered me more than you know. I did want to know how you were doing."

"Ah, that's sweet." He sipped his coffee, dismissing her sentiment easily. "Then what."

She sighed tiredly, but one look at those panda eyes staring back expectantly, and she knew she may as well just comply with his need to know more.

"I stayed in America for a few months and then my father called me home to England."

"Change of heart?"

"M. S. He was diagnosed with M. S. He needed someone to keep house and take care of him." She stared past him at the door.

"You felt compelled to take care of the prick after he left you to rot in Arkham?"

Silence.

"Claire, I asked you a question. Aaaaand…look at me. It pisses me off when you act like I'm not here."

Her eyes flickered back to his face. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Well, he was my father." She ran a finger around the edge of her mug; the coffee was still too hot to sip. "And I had no prospects. I lost my teaching license. No one would hire me for anything once they learned I'd been charged with a crime. That was one thing they neglected to tell me. Even though I chose to go to Arkham, the charges stayed on the books. I had a criminal record. So, I really had nothing better to do. I went home and I lived with him, was his caretaker, housekeeper, cook."

"So you forgave him?"

"No." She answered mildly, like it didn't matter. "I hated him. He despised me. But we were stuck with each other."

"Is he still...?"

"He died five years ago." She finally tried the coffee. "This is good."

"And then?"

"And then….." She looked at him and wondered what he would think of what she would tell him next. "I got married."

"You're married?" Joker gave her that sideways, suspicious look again.

"Was."

"How long?"

"Two years." She rubbed her forehead like she was trying to stave off an approaching headache. "I wanted to have a baby. He insisted on getting married if we were going to have children."

"Old-fashioned kind of guy, huh?" Joker was riveted to the conversation now. His tongue teased his scars relentlessly as he listened to this new development.

"Gary was a pilot. He was 10 years older than me. I thought that marrying a pilot would be ideal because he would be gone a lot. I don't do well with relationships. Marriage was not in my plans at all except that if I wanted a baby, I'd have to go through with it. So I did."

"And?" He watched her carefully, waiting to hear about her attempt at motherhood.

"We tried for a year and a half to get pregnant. He even changed his schedule constantly to be home at the, well, at the right time." She looked at him to see if he understood.

"Basal thermometers and calendars ruled the day?" Joker surprised her.

"That's right. But, it never happened. I never got pregnant." She said flatly as if remembering every disappointing detail.

"Problem with you or with him?"

"Him. He had had a vasectomy years before but never thought to mention it."

"But…" He put his coffee down and looked at her in disbelief.

"I know." She shook her head. "I had no idea. He never intended to give me a baby. He just wanted to get married. He finally confessed when I checked out okay and I scheduled an appointment at the fertility clinic for him."

Joker thought about it for a moment and then he started to giggle, the giggles soon broke into belly laughs until he was bent over in the chair, lost in mirth, tears running the black from his eyes onto his cheeks in a streaky mess. Claire sat silent, rage slowly building as she watched him completely lost in whatever sick humour he saw in her situation.

"I'm so glad that I am able to amuse you." Her tone was laced with pure acid.

"Oh…ho!" Joker caught her displeasure and tried to sit up straight and rein in his laughter just a bit. But it was too much. The whole thing was just too ridiculous and the offended look on her face now, just made it all the funnier for him. "I'm trying but Claire, that is so fucking hilarious. Where is old Gary now?"

"He's dead." She stated flatly and he stopped laughing. He looked so completely amazed and intrigued now.

"Claire….what did you do?" He said it like she was a puppy who had just soiled the carpet.

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head in disbelief.

"It might surprise you to learn that normal people do not automatically resort to _slaughter_ when those around them become annoying."

"Oh god…I love the way you talk….but who said you were normal, hmmm?" He challenged as he took a sip of hot, sweet coffee. "Was it a push down the stairs? Radio falling in the bathtub? Ground glass in the oatmeal? Hmmmm?"

"It was a car accident. Black ice the day before New Year's Eve." She said evenly, not giving in to his baiting. "He was alone in the car and took out a hydro pole on the M1."

"So, this guy is a pilot." He waited and she nodded. "And he flies all over the world for years without crashing?" He illustrated with his right hand fluttering around. Again, she nodded. "And he dies in a traffic mishap?"

They looked at each other for a moment, contemplating it, and then Joker lifted his right hand to his forehead, thumb and forefinger positioned in the shape of an "L".

Claire looked down, sideways, up, anywhere but at him, as she tried to fight the laughter that was creeping up into her cheeks. He watched her carefully as she struggled to keep from erupting. Then she finally had to look at him and he just nodded like "yeah, it's funny." And she lost it completely, peals of laughter escaping as the absurdity of it all just jumped up and made its ridiculous point. Her life was a dark, deranged sit-com. She fell back on the bed and held her sides as she let the laughter take over. She was tired and overwhelmed and now overcome. Joker joined her with his own high-pitched giggling as he jumped around in his chair like he was unable to contain it all. It took a few minutes for the two of them to finally get it all out. She sat up again slowly and tried to catch her breath. She looked like she had just run a marathon, hair dishevelled, eyeliner smudged from her tears of mirth.

Finally quiet, he looked across at her and shook his head.

"I forgot how much I love your laugh. It's sorta, kinda……_unhinged_." He giggled some more and she waggled a warning finger at him to not get her started again.

"Why did you leave England? I mean, you were rid of Daddy and Gary."

"In-laws." She said it like it was a thing to be dreaded. "Gary's parents. They would not leave me alone. I had to have dinner with them every Sunday and listen to their grieving over the Yorkshire pudding. And all I could think of was goddamn him, I'm glad he's gone. I couldn't keep up the façade anymore. Yeah, in-laws. One of the worst things about marriage."

"Marriage was created by society and like anything created by this society - it blows." Joker concluded neatly.

She nodded in agreement.

"Why currency trading?" He handed her coffee back to her now that she was settled again.

"I thought I might be good at it. I was always good at Maths. And I could be my own boss and work alone."

"Don't like people?"

"I don't mind some but I prefer to work alone. It suits me." She admitted, sipping her coffee and looking at him again, noticing that he looked tired. She looked at the gun nestled against his chest. "Are you serious about one of your men possibly attacking you?"

"No. I made it up as an excuse to wear the gun and look sexy." He dead panned.

She snuffled a little laugh and he looked at her for a moment as if sizing her up, figuring her out. He put down his coffee and put his head in his hand, smiling as though something had just occurred to him.

"You know what you are Sweetheart?"

"I'm not sure I want to know." She squirmed a little under his intense gaze.

"You, Claire Sanborne, are an outsider." He gave her the news and waited for her reaction.

"What about you?" She changed the subject. "What happened to you the last thirteen years? How do you get from the person I knew to this man sitting across from me? A long story, no doubt."

"No." He became more serious. "I have a gigantic hole in my memory of about eight or nine years where I can't remember a fucking thing. So, it's a fairly short story. But not one for tonight."

"You don't know what you did for eight or nine years?" She stared at him, wondering if he was drawing her in for more manipulation.

"I have clues." He spread his hands out in front of him like he was studying the pages of an open book. "Like, I _think_ I may have been a military man for a time because I seem to know all about explosives, guns, manoeuvres and tactics, and I find myself using military terms a lot, but no proof, no paper trail, no pictures even." He frowned slightly. "It's probably better that way. I don't mind the mystery."

"How can you not mind?" She was incredulous. "It's your life."

"I live in the moment." He grinned at her as if to indicate how little he cared. "And right now, I want to finish this game."

"It was your turn." She reminded him, going back to study the board.

He pushed his rook in line with her king. "Check."

She sighed heavily, feeling the hammer about to fall, and moved her king coyly to the other square.

Without missing a beat, he pushed his pawn to the last square on the opposite side of the board, transforming it into the queen he needed. "Check and mate."

She toppled her king where he stood, defeated, and shook her head.

"You haven't lost your touch. You're better than ever."

"Are we talking about chess?" He borrowed her smart comeback from earlier that day.

She put her chin in her hand and looked at him seriously now.

"Do I really have to stay here? Won't you let me go home now?"

"Not a chance." He said pleasantly. "I'll let you get some sleep. The bed's comfortable. I've slept there a few times. And my room is directly below on the third floor. Take a bath, try to relax, and we'll see what tomorrow brings, okay?" He stood up and headed for the door, two empty mugs in his right hand. He stopped before opening the door and turned to her with a suggestion.

"If you need anything, a glass of water, an extra blanket, another game, or some, ah…company, just bang on the floor. I'll be right up Sugar Cookie."

"Could you stop doing that, please?" She glared at him, now that she was certain she was still his prisoner.

"What. What am I doing?" He put a hand to his chest, feigning confusion.

"Insinuating."

"That's a big word. What ever does it mean?" He looked around him in a parody of confusion.

"It means you keep hinting that something's going to happen. That, for some reason, I might be interested in …."

"In what, Lamb?" It was infuriating the way he played her, like another game.

"Look." She tried to get the upper hand at this tactic of his. "I would never, ever, in a million years, get any closer to the Joker than I am right now."

"But…" He looked at her like she had lost her mind. "What about Jack?"

"You said he was dead."

"Well - I _**lie**_- a lot-t."


	7. Chapter 7 Tethers

The Endgame

Chapter Seven

Tethers

After leaving Claire, Joker retreated to his bedroom directly below her room. He lay down in the middle of the large bed, not removing his face paint or his clothing. He stared at the ceiling and pictured her up there, clearing the chess board away and making preparations for sleep. He couldn't hear any footsteps but water began to run and he knew she must have heeded his suggestion of a bath to settle her nerves.

His mind drifted back to earlier in the evening; turbulent green eyes, moist ruby lips, dark hair tumbling over creamy shoulders, flashes of cleavage and the sight of her from behind. He groaned in annoyance as he felt his body respond deliciously to the direction his thoughts were turning. A vivid imagination would always be his downfall at times like this. He could see her, really _**see **_her, lowering herself, naked, into the bath, warm water swirling around her and into intimate, sensitive places that he longed to touch. He had visualized her naked a few minutes after first meeting her over thirteen years ago. She had been his favourite fantasy fuck when his right hand had still been his major sex partner. And, tonight, after their conversation, she had just grown more luscious because of her freak factor. She was not like anyone else. She had travelled a road since they parted that was bound to make her look at the world with more clarity than most – the herd had lost a sheep.

Her intelligence was almost as much of a turn on as her physical assets. He knew all about beautiful women and enjoyed his share, even after the scars, and they were satisfying to a point, but beautiful _**and**_ brilliant was something he didn't come across in his world. Any truly smart woman did not end up in his company, unless she was damaged in some way. Claire, by society's standards, was damaged. He reflected on the strange fact that he had not seen her shed a tear, not one, since he picked her up many hours ago. Anyone else, anyone, well - normal - would have had a few fits of crying and sobbing and begging, before now. Not Ms. Sanborne. She was concerned for her safety, enough to try and fight him for it, but strangely lacking that extremely annoying feminine habit of weeping to either gain sympathy or just from lack of control. He wondered if she had _**ever**_ cried or if the experiences of the last thirteen years, and perhaps before, had simply left her too cynical and emotionally stilted to remember how. Yet as damaged as she was, he recognized that she was still far more in touch, unlike him, with more subtle feelings – like the ability to care. She could care. And she still cared for him, well, for Jack, anyway. He could feel it, see it in her eyes, and it fascinated him.

He considered his part in her suffering. He had, unknowing or not, been her downfall and the cause of her acquiring a criminal record, her loss of occupation and a stay in Arkham. He guessed he should feel guilty about that but he could only intellectualize what guilty might feel like. Responsible? An accessory to the fact? He dismissed that thought for now as he was tired and abstract concepts were exhausting for him to decipher. His thoughts turned to the flesh once again and he closed his eyes, moving the heel of one hand down to push against his restless member. His fingers twiddled a bit at the zipper, ready to give in but then he sat up, growling in exasperation, and leaving the bed, headed for the office across the hall.

A plan. A plan. He needed one. Something to take care of this situation as efficiently as possible. He had an agenda and this was taking him off track. This woman was taking up head space better used to further his message, his purpose, here in Gotham. He would have to find a way to deal with her, so he could get back to work. She was a special case, of course, but he could figure it out. For one thing, he was confident that he would satisfy his need to fuck her. It would happen. And he wouldn't have to force it. He didn't even have to work the Stockholm angle that much, but he would, just to be sure he had her. As frightened of Joker as she was, she would give Jack anything he wanted. The poor thing was under the delusion that Jack was still alive and well. He would have to give her Jack – to a point. She was going to have to accept Joker as well. He could only compromise so much and still remain in charge.

Of course, he wasn't going to get to enjoy her right away. Mother Nature was about to make things tricky. Not many women liked being intimate during their monthly purge. It wasn't something that would make him hesitate, not for a second, but chances were Claire was not the type to allow it. He would have to be patient but soon, he would get to lay her out and do everything he needed to do to satisfy that long-standing hunger. He ticked that one off on his mental list.

Next, he would have to come up with something to hook her. He wanted to be able to allow her to go yet still create a space in her life where he could return if and when he needed to. He had already admitted to himself that he wasn't going to be able to let her go completely. He needed a tether, some connection, to ensure future accessibility. For one thing, the chess was sublime. He had really missed that calibre of competition. There was no one else to play him like that. And, there was the fact that she was his only connection to another time, another life. He wasn't sure why, but this was important to him. More important than he would have thought. He frowned, confused by this. Again, he let it go rather than ponder it. He reassured himself that anything that was causing him such major distraction at the moment was sure to pass after sufficient time and exposure. It would burn itself out in the long run as it always did. This was a temporary thing.

He switched on the desk lamp and slumped down into the leather chair, grabbing a pad of paper and a pencil. Pictograms were a way he sorted and compartmentalized; putting things in a perspective he could understand. He drew a stick figure with noodly hair and an exaggerated grin – he marked it "Me". Across from this figure, he drew another stick figure with longer hair and a straight mouth and marked it "C". In between he placed some lines, connecting the two figures and started to label them – "chess", "money laundering", "blackmail?", "bribe?". He ran out of words. He stared at the pictogram for a few moments, frustrated at the lack of progress. Disgusted, he violently scribbled over the lines and words and instead doodled a knife above her head. He scribbled "Kill?"

* * *

Claire dunked under the water to wet her hair. She had pushed the shower doors to one side so she could rest her casted arm on the outside of the tub to keep it dry. She squeezed some shampoo directly onto her head and used her good hand to massage it into fragrant suds. Despite the bizarre situation she found herself in, she let reason take over. For instance, captive or not, she needed clean hair. She wondered if the Joker's hair colour was permanent or if it washed out. It was a strange thought that confirmed for her that she was beyond exhaustion. The bathroom was relatively clean, despite the neglect of the entire building. She had examined the bed and it looked passable. No blood stains or anything else disgusting that she could detect. It would have to do because she was tired and she needed sleep.

Her thoughts drifted to the floor below. What was he doing down there? Sleeping? Did he sleep? Or was he like a shark, in constant motion. She dunked again to rinse and then just rested, sinking down to feel the warmth up to her chin. She looked at the break in the glass from their altercation earlier in the day and wondered why it had taken her so long to recognize him. And she allowed herself to go back, to remember.

He had transferred in from another state; Indiana, if she remembered correctly. She had been called to the office to meet him before taking him to her class and she remembered that he looked ship-wrecked. It was the way she always thought of him. Washed up on her shore, his wreck of a home life leaving him like flotsam at sea. He was handsome and smart and could have been very popular but he did not respond to any overtures by other students to be friends. He seemed suspicious of everyone, even her. Yet, when she was finally able to coax a smile, that glorious, beaming smile, they connected somewhere deep.

She had created the chess club out of thin air the moment she realized he was interested. A club of three; herself, Jack and Lauren. Lauren had joined only to be near Jack, that much was obvious. It was painful to watch the young girl attempting to gain a grasp on a game so far out of her league and at the same time trying to snag Jack's wandering attention. They traded off partners; Jack and Lauren, Lauren and herself, and she and Jack. Sometimes they got to play alone and it was at those times she was able to get him to talk about things that were happening at home. But there were boundaries he would not cross when he spoke of his parents. His love for his mother was obvious. He hurt for her. He protected her. As unlucky as Lucy Napier was for having terminal cancer, she was so very fortunate to have a son with such a fierce love. His father was demented. Alcoholic and abusive to a degree she could only guess as Jack's eyes would turn black and fixed at the mere mention of his name. He would never articulate exactly what ghastly events he and his mother had endured. It seemed beyond words. She remembered her one and only meeting with the man and the lack of soul she recognized had made her even more fiercely protective of young Jack.

So she encouraged him any way she could. She shared his IQ score with him which the school board did not allow at the time. But she felt he needed to know just how brilliant he was. That he could transcend his station in life and go anywhere he wanted. He could be anything, do _**anything**_. She spoke to him of scholarships, ascending to the high echelons of the chess world, a trip to Russia. In fact, the trip to Russia was a favourite topic. They planned their itinerary and the roster of Russian chess grand masters he would take on, one by one, until he had beaten them all. It was a giddy time.

Slowly, he responded to her offer of friendship. He began to trust. And in the quiet times alone, playing chess, he began to respond to the woman instead of the teacher. She felt him staring more, drawn like the tide to the moon. And after a while, she felt her own attraction to his intelligence and sensitivity. And when he turned on his smile, the sight of him was breathtaking. Pure masculine beauty the like of which she had never seen. She tried to down play it, keep it reigned in, but at the same time she looked forward to their time alone. She knew it was wrong but she vowed to never let it get out of hand and to never cross that line. She cared for him and even thought at the time that if she were ever to have a son, she would want him to be just like Jack.

The afternoon when he first moved closer, when he dared to enter her personal space, to playfully pat her on the head in mock sympathy to yet another loss of a game, she shivered at the touch. They held each other's eyes for a moment and she knew they were in trouble. Things got complicated from that point on but it was beyond consideration that she should stop spending time with him alone. His mother was dying before his eyes, in tiny increments each day. He was the main caregiver and he needed someone in his corner. He needed someone to talk to, to vent, to share. The family could not afford counselling, let alone the staggering medical bills that forced so much home care. So, she was there. The chess and their conversations took him away, even if only for a couple of hours, from the cruel reality of his life.

His first attempt at intimacy had come after an intense conversation about Lucy and the fact that the medications Jack was instructed to administer to her were not doing their job. Her level of pain was not coming under control and Jack was distressed that the visiting nurses did not seem to have anything to offer other than the promise that it would all be ending soon. They had been standing together in the teacher's lounge where they played their games after school hours. She had reached up to touch his shoulder, to comfort, and when she made contact, she felt his arm go around her waist to draw her into an embrace. She was preoccupied with grasping his arm to discourage the action when his mouth took her by surprise as he brushed a soft kiss against the corner of her lips. She looked up in confusion and he brought his mouth to hers in a kiss that captured her senses and temporarily separated her from reality. She closed her eyes to it and for a moment her mind was wrecked by the absolute need to kiss him back. It took all the strength she could rally to fight against that instinct. But she pushed him away gently with a reluctant hand. She remembered his urgently whispered "Don't…" as she did it and it made her want to scream at the unfairness of the situation. She had left the room hastily, before she changed her mind.

In the present, Claire was startled at a feeling, a quivering, low, very low. She put a hand under the water and placed it against her abdomen, just below her navel, and felt her breath hitch. She was aroused at the memory. Even now, all these years later, he could still do that to her. But he was _**here**_, she remembered with a start. He was only a floor away. That same person. Only it wasn't him at all. Not any more. How could this be happening? The person on the third floor was the Joker of Gotham. She had seen him murder a man hours earlier. Without a thought, he had just taken that life in a brutal, hideous fashion. That man was not Jack. That man might kill her as soon as look at her if she annoyed him. She remembered his heavy-handed response to her attack earlier. The savage way he pressed her against the floor and showed her the knife – his Cupid - while he uttered his threat of death in a voice straight from hell. While she had to admit that she couldn't expect that he wouldn't react to her attack, the very violent nature of his reprisal had left her convinced that she would never leave here alive.

A heavy sadness overwhelmed what was left of her energy. Sadness for herself as she would probably never return to her apartment and no one would know or care and sadness for Jack who was nothing now but a memory. He had been swallowed up in the madness that was the Joker, never to be seen again. He deserved no such ending. All that wonderful intelligence, hope and promise, wasted. She put her hand to the space between her eyes and rubbed to ease the headache that was threatening. She just wanted to sleep.

She was hardly out of the tub when she heard a knock on the bedroom door and the locks beginning to be loosened. Sitting in the armchair, clad only in a pair of panties, she reached over to the bed and grasped the edge of the tired, flowered bed spread to cover herself as the door opened and the Joker made his entrance.

He was still dressed as he had been before, with the gun still tucked in his suspender strap. He stood for a moment taking in the sight of the room that had been darkened. She had brought the old lava lamp out of the closet and it was bubbling away, sending molten eggs of red lava rising and falling, casting eerie shadows on the wall behind her. Claire sat in the armchair by the bed, the bedspread wrapped around her like a strapless gown, held together with her one good hand behind her back. Her hair was wet and combed back with a tail of it snaking around over her right shoulder, still shedding water in droplets that ran down into her cleavage.

"What?" She asked, eyes wary of his unexpected reappearance.

"Oh…" It took him a moment to remember his purpose. "Some unfinished business, that's all. I thought you were still up, so…" He licked his lips and squinted his eyes toward the lava lamp. "I should have brought a joint."

She followed his gaze to the lamp. "It's sort of soothing. I had one when I was little, in my room. It used to help me fall asleep. What unfinished business?" She borrowed his habit of changing subjects in a whiplash fashion.

Joker approached and held out a writing pad and a pen. As he moved closer, his vantage point gave him a good view of how the top of her ample breasts swelled over the tightly wrapped bedspread. She pulled the covering around her even more tightly with the hand behind her and she narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. He cocked a brow suggestively and she gave him a dark look unaware that her efforts to conceal herself were only making her more seductive to him.

He sat down on the bedside near the chair, still able to look down at her, and put the writing pad on the bed beside him, holding the pen out to her in a paint stained hand.

"I thought about it and I think you need to write Doris a note. Say something that will explain your sudden disappearance. We don't need hysteria breaking out and your face plastered all over the news. You're not a hostage so that's no use to me this time. Can you think of something she would understand? Something that would explain your sudden absence? Hmmm? " The soot-rimmed brown eyes darted playfully over her firmly encased bosom, and he pushed a stray tendril of green locks out of his line of vision while flashing her a lecherous grin. "What d'ya say there……Kitten."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Ah, let me think …. _**No**_." The grin evaporated and he gave her a cold dead stare as he moistened his lips, waiting for her compliance, twiddling the pen like a mini baton, in front of her face.

She closed her eyes for a second and then held out her casted arm to him.

"Maybe you should write it?" She glanced back to the arm behind her, holding her modesty together. "My writing hand is a little pre-occupied and well …" She glanced at the cast on her other arm.

He tilted his head and brought his face close to hers. She didn't pull back.

"It has to be in your own handwriting. You know that."

"My writing hand is not available at the moment." She looked at the pad of paper with disdain. She shouldn't have mentioned her landlady.

"Well, see that's where I can help." He stood up and walked around behind her chair. "I can hold the ah…_twins_ for you while you jot a little something down. And don't try to be cute. No clues. No riddles. Keep it short-t."

Before she could protest, she felt a large, warm hand move under her own and take hold of the twisted knot of bedclothes that were serving as a dress. His other hand moved around in front of her to offer her the pen once again, waving it insistently. He was leaned over her, just inches away. She felt his hot breath against her shoulder and some of his green curls brushed against the back of her neck where her hair was swept to one side.

He took a deep breath near her ear.

"You smell like fruit salad."

"It's my shampoo."

When she didn't reach for the pen, he dropped it on top of the pad and his hand disappeared behind her. She heard a 'snit' and Cupid gleamed in the rosy low light before her eyes, held deftly, almost lovingly, in that graceful hand. His voice seemed to plummet an octave as he declared against her still damp ear.

"What is it, hmmmm? Is P…M…S clouding your judgment, Cream Puff? I can _**cut**_ you a little slack for the whole dipsy doodling hormonal thing but honestly, you're really, really, pissing me offfffff."

In direct contrast to his threatening tone, one finger from the hand that gripped the spread together behind her, swept against her back in a tender, soothing movement that raised goose flesh on her arms.

She leaned a little forward, ignoring the knife, and picked up the pen in a slightly trembling left hand. The knife disappeared behind her again and she heard the soft metallic sigh as it returned to its sheath and God knew where on his body. She remembered that he still wore a gun. She wrote a few lines and signed it "C" with three x's and a heart. She leaned back and reached around to relieve his helpful hand.

He tore the note off the pad and sat on the bed again, studying it closely in the low light, watching her at the same time with serious intermittent glances.

He cleared his throat and read aloud in a flat voice:

"Dear D, I decided to go see Ham for a little while. He's under the weather. Be back soon. Don't worry. Love, C. Kiss, Kiss, Kiss and a curly little heart how adorable." He looked at her over the note paper with a curious squint. "But kind of lovey dovey, don't cha think? What, are you a lesbian now?"

"No." She answered flatly with a roll of her eyes.

"Sure?"

"It's a girl thing." She offered in a bored fashion.

"Riiiiight…" He still looked suspicious.

"Doris is old enough to be my mother." She didn't know why she felt the need to correct his impression.

"Age does not matter." He pointed a finger at her for emphasis.

"So you always said."

"Well, I'll say anything if it'll let me put my dick where I want to put it." He admitted sheepishly, wrinkling his nose in a comical way.

"Can we leave your dick out of it, please?" She suggested seriously.

"Ah, that's what you say _**now**_…."

"Good lord, you're impossible." She wanted to bang her head against something for immediate relief.

He looked at her expectantly. She looked away from him, her jaw set in a way that suggested she was angry. He sniffed a little giggle at her.

"Who the hell is Ham?"

"A friend."

"In Gotham?"

"No, New York."

"Boyfriend?"

"No. Just a friend. He's into currencies. We got to know each other through trading. It can be a lonely business."

"Does Doris have Ham's number?"

"No."

"Address?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes!"

"Cause you know. If it back-fires. If your face shows up on the front page of the Gotham Times as missing - well, you really _**will**_ go missing. Somewhere watery, in the Narrows, they might find you months from now, all bloated and bleached and not quite your… old….self."

He held the note in his hand for a moment as his mind moved pieces into place.

"Ham….Ham….._**Hamilton**_." He remembered the notation in her day book and smiled. But she still wouldn't look at him. "Claire, I'm speaking to you."

Nothing.

"Are you fucking him?"

That got her attention.

"No. It's not that way. Ham is like a brother."

"Or a sandwich. But anyway, like I said….are you fucking him?"

She finally looked at him, defiance brimming in her dark eyes. She searched his face for something. He knew exactly who she was looking for. She couldn't contain her thoughts.

"What is the matter with you? What happened to you? How are you possible?"

"Whoa…ho, ho! One question at a time there Toots. I didn't know you were so _**into **_me." He fluttered his hands around like the idea was more excitement than he could handle.

"I would never, in a million years, have thought you could be like you are." She continued, unfazed by his misplaced amusement.

"Oh, and how's that?" He played along.

"Mean. A bully. A killer."

"Go on."

"Crass, A thug. Manipulative."

"Oh hell, now you're just turning me on." He teased, watching her reaction carefully. "And there you are - just one swift yank away from being completely naked."

She shook her head, drawing her casted arm closer in her lap, still holding her attire together with her other hand.

"Jack would have never…"

"Oh, here we go again." He said with a fake, theatrical yawn that cut her off. "Jack this. Jack that. Blah, blah, blahhhh…blah, blah. Is that arm bothering you?"

She looked up, once again, taken by surprise by the quick zig-zag of his thoughts.

"No, I'm fine."

"Did you take any of those pain killers?"

"I just want to sleep." She said honestly, looking at him in a way that was less angry, more like before, when they were playing chess so contentedly. At least _**he**_ was content.

"Look if you're a good girl, I'll let you use my computer for a while tomorrow and get up to speed on your precious work. You can't make any trades you understand, but you can do some research so you don't get too behind."

She looked at him hopefully and again, pulled her casted arm closer to her body as though it were annoying her.

"You were supposed to get that thing off next week." He refreshed her memory. "Today's Thursday."

"Probably Friday by now." She corrected him quietly.

He pulled out his watch and the chain caught the pinkish light in the room like a string of diamonds. He flipped the intricately engraved case open to have a look.

"Well, right you are, Sugar Plum. It's nearly one in the morning." He snapped it shut and let it spill from his hand back into his deep trouser pocket.

"Was it your grandfather's?" She asked, truly taken by its beauty.

"Well, ah, he was probably _**somebody's**_ grandfather." Joker admitted, gazing off in the distance a little as though he were remembering fondly.

"That's beyond sad." She stared at him in disbelief. "You murdered an old man for a watch?"

"Oh, ho, no." Joker shook his head like she was being too silly. "He and Cupid had a little altercation when he wouldn't stop calling me "Sonny Boy" during a robbery. "Let me tell you something _Sonny Boy_…" Joker imitated the old codger complete with geriatric head tremor and frailness in his high-pitched voice. "I really, really hated that. I warned him, he continued, and the rest, as they say, is …. Hissssstory." He patted his pocket where his beloved watch nestled.

"I suppose you have a name for the watch as well?"

"Well, of course."

"And?"

"What?"

"The watch!" She swore he did this on purpose. "What do you call it?"

"Oh…" He feigned surprise at her annoyance. "Well, Sonny Boy, of course."

She stared at him for a moment and just mumbled. "Why do I ask these things?"

"I have no idea." He admitted. "Anyway, that thing's coming off on Monday." He nodded at her cast.

"It might be too soon." She frowned, protective of her arm. "You may have re-broken it."

"It wasn't _**me.**_" He reminded her. "It was the recently deceased Asshat who manhandled you into the truck."

"Asshat wasn't around when you threw me in the bathtub and knocked me on the floor." She challenged him with a glint in her eye at the memory.

"After you went all David and Goliath on me and tried to kill me with a wooden box." He answered back reasonably. "Besides, if it was broken again, it would have swelled and that cast would have become so tight I would have had to cut it off just to stop you screaming."

Her look was unsure.

"If after we have a look at it, it's not ready to come off, I'll re-cast it. I know how." He offered, again, reasonably.

"How do you know these things?"

"I have to. My line of work is full of broken bones and bullet holes and lacerations. I can't just go to the Emergency room whenever I need to. I've learned to deal with most things myself and supplies are always just there for the taking. Don't worry. I'll take good care of you."

She didn't answer him.

He looked back at her and noticed that she did look very tired. There were shadows there, around her eyes, that were not there in the afternoon. His eyes travelled past her for a moment into the bathroom where the door was open, a dim light on. He saw the mauve box sitting on the side of the sink, top opened. A smirk crossed his face and she didn't have to follow his gaze to know what he was looking at.

"You're a bit early. Miscalculated?"

"I know what you're doing." She informed him, trying desperately to keep the colour from rising in her face.

"What am I doing?"

"Trying to embarrass me."

"Well, I think it's rude that you never thanked me for my … gift." He nodded back to the bathroom and gave her a look like she was an errant child.

"You just did it to remind me that I'm under your control. I have to rely on you for everything. Even that."

"I did it with your comfort in mind, my dear. And I think it's kinda sweet that we can share these special, intimate moments. There are no secrets between us. Ya know… like girlfriends. Feeling a little crampy? Should have taken those pain killers."

"Will a pain killer make you disappear?" She challenged him.

"Don't think so."

"Then they're no bloody use to me whatsoever." She concluded neatly with a huff.

He looked at her seriously for a second and then his shoulders started to shake with mirth and he started a low, throaty giggle that escalated as she tried to ignore him, pulling the bedspread even more tightly around her. She gave him a stern look that just broke him up more so that he was whimpering and laughing in turns, squirming around his perch on the bed in childlike glee.

"Ah…ha…you're..." He tried to get it out between snorts of uncontrollable laughter. "So …much … _**fun**_."

"I can't do your money laundering. " She broke the spell with her declaration. He lost the laughter instantly.

"What?"

"I can't do it. I would only mess it up and get us all caught. Put you and your operation in jeopardy." She reasoned.

"I'm not picking up a "can do" attitude here." He said as a faint warning, making little quotation marks with his fingers.

"I'm a lousy criminal. Even you must realize that." She pleaded tiredly.

"We'll have to do something about that serious lack of self esteem, Darling. I'm sure you could break the law with great success if you just _**tried**_ harder." He cocked his head to the side and gave her a determined look like he was rooting for her.

He leaned forward suddenly and took her by surprise as he placed a firm hand on one bare shoulder. He just rested it there as she shrunk back slightly, watching him warily. His face was close to hers and she couldn't look away. The eyes, lost in their dark pits, gleamed in the low light and he worried his scarred bottom lip with his teeth gently as he seemed to be getting ready to say something but didn't know how. He teased the fingers of his hand along her shoulder until he reached the base of her throat, where his fingers snaked around her neck as his thumb brushed softly against the soft hollow there.

"Don't make things harder than they need to be Sweetness." He said quietly, seriously. "The world out there doesn't even exist anymore if I say it's so. I have that power. I can take it all away. I can take you away from it or it away from you or end it all in an instant. Do you understand?"

She nodded slowly as his hand left her throat and he sat back again. Folding the note, he slipped into his vest pocket. He left the paper and pen behind as he moved to the door, turning before his exit to flash her a grin that made her think she must be losing her mind right along with him.


	8. Chapter 8 Home Sweet Home

The Endgame

Chapter Eight

Home Sweet Home

Morning dawned gloomy in the Narrows and a rancid, brown rain, characteristic to Gotham alone, pelted the tenement as the Joker prowled around the first floor, dishevelled and grumpy from a night spent intermittently flailing around in his bed unable to fall asleep and sitting in his office staring at maps and blueprints trying to formulate his next assault on the city's false sense of security. To him, Gotham was the world in miniature. Whatever he did here, went for the world at large. It was just the beginning. This was war. People needed to wake the hell up. But for now, _**he**_ needed to wake the hell up. He needed coffee. He headed for the kitchen.

Midget was still on shift, coffee was ready and the small statured henchman was actually wearing an apron. No doubt, he was ready to do penance, do anything, to appease the Joker after he was caught the night before in a very bad light. He wanted to remain employed but more than that, he wanted to remain alive.

Joker breezed right past him to the coffee maker, grabbing a drying mug off the dish rack and filling it eagerly. Midget presented the sugar bowl hastily and placed it beside the morning paper as the Joker took a seat at the table, looking more than a little irritable. He eyed Midget as death might survey the doomed.

"Toast Boss?" The little man offered meekly.

Joker started heaving the sugar into his coffee to get the right consistency, stirring and stirring as the liquid became saturated beyond the point of dissolving. It took on a glossy sheen that told him it was just right. Candied coffee, his favourite fuel. He took a sip and closed his eyes for a moment to let the caffeine and sugar do their work.

"What's that? You said you want to _**toast**_ me?" Joker opened one eye and levelled it at Midget warily.

"No. no." Midget babbled hastily, taking a seat across from him, ready to grovel. "I don't know why I did that last night. I swear. No bullets. You saw for yourself. I was just being an idiot, Boss. Believe me. I would never, ever……."

The kitchen door swung open to the horror movie weather outside as Charlie kicked a cardboard box in ahead of him as he made his way into the room from the back alley. He was fairly soaked from just a short run from his parked car to here. He combed some long wet brown hair away from his brow with his fingers and grinned despite the early hour and the misery of the rain.

"Morning Midget. Boss." Right hand rose in a peace sign. Joker returned a sloppy one, still looking at Midget like he was a dead mouse found in the cupboard.

Charlie closed the door behind him and looked at Midget in the apron and the Boss looking like he had been pulled through a hedge backwards over and over – all night. He could feel the tension in the room and as was his nature, he tried to break it.

"Hey, I hear the Batman's been asking around about you, Boss."

Joker gave him a sideways look like he wondered if he was being teased. "Moi? Who said?"

"The Russian over on Perdition. The tailor. He told someone who told someone who told the guy selling crack in the alley that the Bat paid him a visit night before last because he heard you were using his services. Not the dealer – the tailor. Must have heard about your new suits."

"What did the Rusky tell him?" Joker growled but grinned, sipping his coffee with a new found pleasure.

"Nothing. After he nearly had a heart attack from a man-sized bat appearing out of nowhere, he denied he did business with you." Charlie looked at Midget who seemed relieved to have the attention diverted from whatever they had been discussing prior to his arrival.

"Not that it would matter." Joker added quickly. "The Bat can follow me wherever and whenever he wants. I haven't seen him for a few weeks. I miss his pointy little ears and that gravelly snarl of his. I love the way he sort of barks my name – like he's coughing up a fur ball. Jo..ker!" Joker imitated the Batman's guttural enunciation of his name very convincingly.

Charlie started to laugh and Midget gave an uncomfortable little snort, watching Joker carefully all the time. Joker's dark eyes slid towards him with disdain. He hated insincerity almost as much as he hated everything else in the world. He ran a tired hand through his stringy, kinky, bed head and nodded at the box on the floor.

"Cha Cha's clothes?"

"Right." Charlie lifted the box to a chair seat and opened the top. "Good thing she's a clothes horse. She won't even miss these." He pulled out a couple of dresses and a soft expensive looking blouse to give Joker an idea of the contents. "And she buys good stuff. Should look nice on your guest."

"Hmmmm…..maybe I pay you too much?" Joker gave Charlie a sideways glance and grinned. "Didn't she just get a boob job too?"

"Well, yeah." Charlie wasn't sure if Joker was kidding. "She was really insecure about her …."

"New ta ta's for Cha Cha, eh?." Joker's grin got wider and he giggled at his own joke.

This time it was Midget who laughed and Charlie just smiled sheepishly.

"Well, hell. If you can't enjoy your money then what's the point, right?" Joker waved the henchman over toward the chair beside him.

"Sit down, Charlie. I want to talk to both of you. I got some new house rules. Midget – you used to be a cook, right?"

"That's right. Something you're hungry for in particular Boss?" Midget offered eagerly.

"Look, I want you to pull a double shift just for today. Starting today, I want you to start cooking three meals a day, right here, in this kitchen. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I want the house filled with the smell of good food and …oh… some baking. You know, muffins, cookies, you get the idea?"

"Who am I cooking for?" Midget was a little confused. Joker always ate take-out.

"You're cooking for me, for you, for Charlie here, and for our guest." Joker looked upward. "I want the place to feel more homey. You know, like we're a little family." He gushed with domestic glee. "Like we all live here, eat here, talk about our day, and take care of each other. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Now Charlie was just as confused as Midget and it registered on both of their faces.

"Oh for Christ sakes, try to keep up with me here!" Joker started to shovel more sugar into his coffee and smacked his lips in frustration. He looked like a horror show with his war paint worn off in places, his crimson mouth smeared like a little girl who got into her mommy's make-up and his tired brown eyes lost in the black pits that were streaking down into the lines around his nose. "Just…._listen_." He instructed with exasperation like they were getting on his last nerve.

"We're listening Boss." Charlie assured him, patting Midget on the shoulder to get him to agree. Midget nodded that he was listening too.

"Can you cook Italian – you know, all the "ini" and "oni" foods?"

Midget nodded vigorously.

"Good. Just go out…" Joker reached into his vest and pulled a fistful of wrinkled one hundred dollar bills and tossed them on the table. "Get some groceries."

Midget grabbed the bills and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. He went to get up but Joker waved him back down into his chair again.

"Starting tonight, I don't want anyone on night shift. I want you both gone by seven o'clock every night." Joker looked into his coffee and sighed deeply, like he was trying to figure something out.

"What about security?" Charlie piped up. "May not be safe, Boss." He noticed for the first time, the gun tucked into his suspender strap.

Joker levelled a stern look at Midget. The smaller man looked down at the table.

"I'm good. Anyway, if it's my time, it's my time." He went quiet for a moment and then added seriously. "Look, if anything happens to me, make sure she gets home, unharmed. Which reminds me, Charlie, after you take her the clothes, I want you to deliver a note to someone's mailbox."

"Sure. Do you want me to take these things to her now?" Charlie glanced at the kitchen clock that was showing 8 a.m."

"Give her another hour. She had a long night." Joker said reasonably.

Midget and Charlie glanced at each other with smug expressions that indicated they understood exactly why she had a long night. Joker didn't bother to contradict.

"Oh and make sure, before you enter the room, you can eyeball her at a safe distance. She's a quick little minx and a bar room brawler – don't let the cast on the right arm fool ya." Joker put a hand to his head feeling the lump that was still present and tender from yesterday's encounter. "I'm going to go and get tidied up and then we can talk about that Armoury thing again. Might want to try that one again next week. Thursday still the best day?" Charlie nodded that it was. "Are Freddy and that other idiot still interested after the aborted mission?" Charlie nodded again in the affirmative.

"Good. Then we'll get it done next week and I'll have my baaaaazooooka." Joker aimed an imaginary over the shoulder weapon at both of them and made a kablam sound. They both ducked, playing along. He grinned at them and pointed a finger. "Nearly got cha." He picked up his mug of coffee and headed out of the kitchen to get ready for the day.

Charlie waited until he was way out of earshot and then turned to Midget.

"He looks like shit on a stick this morning. What happened last night?"

Midget shook his head and admitted his own stupidity. "I was cleaning the guns and I don't know what got into me. I sort of pointed the glock, unloaded you understand, at him when he had his back turned but he caught me in the reflection in the window. Charlie, I thought he was going to blow my brains out. He had the barrel of that Magnum right here." He put a finger to the point between his tired blue eyes.

Charlie tilted his head at Midget and blew out his breath in a meaningful sigh. "You know how to live dangerously, I'll give you that. He probably didn't want to disturb his "guest" upstairs. That's all that saved you - and saved me having to find a hole to put you in this morning."

"This chick, whoever the hell she is, has got him in a lather. I've never seen him so distracted." Midget frowned.

"What is it with him and the ladies, anyway?" Charlie shook his head in wonder. "I mean, look at him. He's usually all messed up, looking like a freak show. He's got that crazy ass giggling erupting every five damn seconds and he's completely and utterly out of his fucking mind. But all Cha Cha can talk about is the Joker. She met him once, after a late night poker game, she came to pick me up and the Boss said two words in her general direction. Ever since, she's been obsessed I tell ya. It's like some voodoo shit he does with women. I mean, I love the Boss and all. He's a gas and he does over pay me, that's a fact, but why, please someone tell me why, the guy's such a panty peeler?"

"This is true." Midget nodded, taking the money out of his pocket to flatten it out more neatly and count it. "I've seen women, in the middle of a hold-up, with his damn knife _**out**_ mind you, flirting with him. It's incredible. It's like they have a death wish or something. And my sister taped all his videos on GCN. She watches them over and over and says he turns her on. I mean what the fuck?"

"What the fuck, indeed. It's a mystery." Charlie agreed. "Have you ever seen him without the paint?"

"Nah. I don't think anyone has. He even sleeps in it. With those scars, he's probably worse without it. That's probably why he wears it. Trying to cover up the fact, he's so deformed." Midget nodded like he had it all figured out.

"I don't know." Charlie wasn't sure. "If you really study his features, I mean when he's serious, concentrating on something, it almost seems like he's a pretty good looking dude underneath all that. Cha Cha is convinced he's easy on the eyes. And she should know. She used to do some sculpting. She's artistic, you know? And she knows faces. She studies them. She says he is better than average looking. Even with the carnage."

"Yeah, well, Cha Cha just wants to jump his sorry bones, don't forget."

"Don't remind me." Charlie admitted. "But you better go get the grub and I'll have a look at the security around here if he insists on being alone at night. Never a dull moment with Bozo, that's for sure." Charlie got up to check doors and windows while Midget charged out into the septic rain for groceries without even stopping to take off his apron.

Charlie moved all the chains and unlocked the forth floor bedroom door. He let the door swing open just a little to get a look inside before entering, just as the boss had warned. There was no movement or sign of life, so he moved into the room a foot or two and saw that she was still in bed, apparently asleep, despite the noise he made unlocking the fortified door. He moved a little closer and spoke up quietly.

"Ah Miss?"

Nothing. Just soft, even breathing coming from the lump under the covers.

"Ah excuse me…. Miss?" This time he spoke more loudly and he saw a dark haired head rise from the nest of pillows. She seemed to be taking in her surroundings a bit before putting her hand over her eyes, upset as she remembered her dilemma. She spoke and her voice sounded raspy and groggy.

"Who? Who are you? What do you want?"

Charlie had heard her speak, just a little before, in the truck, but had not noticed the accent until now. A Brit.

"Charlie." He identified himself and moved around closer to the bed to make conversation.

Claire pulled the covers up to her chin as she sat up and surveyed him with curious eyes. Beautiful eyes, Charlie noted.

"Are you here to take me home?" She asked hopefully. "That's it, right? He's decided I can finally leave?"

"No." He tried to be firm and not apologize for the fact she was still captive. "The boss just sent me to deliver some clothes." He put the box on the armchair next to the bed where she looked at him glumly. "Breakfast is coming. Just a little late. Kind of more of a brunch today. Boss said he would bring it up himself later." She still looked so disappointed. "You must have smelled the food. Midget is cooking up a storm. The Joker wants you to eat well."

She just shook her head and looked at the door longingly.

He knew he should just leave it at that but something, maybe the need to cheer her up, kept him there. He reached into the box and pulled out a pale yellow wool dress. Perfect for her. He held it up, looking hopeful.

"Where did you find ….. whose clothes……wait a minute….I'm not wearing some dead woman's clothing. Get it out of here, please." She sat up straighter now and he saw that she had on the same black sleeveless shirt she had worn the day before. Her cast was looking a bit beaten up and ragged. Yesterday had taken its toll.

"The woman's not dead." Charlie reassured her. "I know because I'm married to her. My wife donated some of her things for you to borrow until you go home."

"You really think I'm going home?" She asked him, leaning over a little closer now, feeling more comfortable.

"Sure." He lied. "Just a matter of time."

"Why didn't you just bring me my own clothes?"

"Because the Joker didn't want me going back into your apartment a second time. Thought it was too risky."

"Where is he?" She asked, pushing the covers aside to reveal she was in her jeans as well. She looked toward the door. "Will you help me, please?" She whispered urgently.

Charlie watched her carefully and moved over to the door to close it. She took it as a sign that he might help.

"Look, you can say I caught you off guard. Maybe even lie here like I knocked you out? Can I get downstairs and out of here without someone … how many of you are there?" She stood up and looked for her boots.

"No, no. You can't go anywhere. I can't help you." He leaned against the door and watched her disappointment as she sat back down on the bed looking utterly miserable.

"You don't understand." He went on. "The boss would kill me before asking questions. I'd be a dead man. And I have a family."

She nodded and took a breath. "Of course. I understand."

He was confused by her simple acceptance of his explanation. He waited a moment, not sure what to say next, but didn't really want to leave yet. He wasn't sure what was making him reluctant to leave except for the fact that she was intriguing as hell.

"Do you really know him? You know, from before?" He asked simply, not sure how else to get to it.

"I do." She admitted quietly, pulling her casted arm into her lap and flexing her fingers like she was fighting stiffness. "But I don't think he'd want me to talk about that."

"Right." Charlie agreed quickly. "But, can you at least say whether or not he was always like this? You know…..was he always sick?"

"Sick?" Claire looked at him seriously for a moment. "Sick…." She said to herself softly and he noticed an incredibly sad expression fill her eyes. He thought she might start to cry. "No. No. He wasn't sick. He was very well. But his circumstance, his situation in life, was quite sad."

Charlie didn't respond. He was picking up something strange about her. His instincts told him that this was no ordinary relationship. This was going to be interesting to watch.

By ten thirty Midget had arrived back, put the food away and was tending to eggs Benedict in a pan on the stove when Joker entered the kitchen in fresh war paint, hair combed and fresh clothes. He was wearing his brown corduroy suit with oxblood coloured vest and his favourite paisley shirt. He took a look over Midget's shoulder and hummed his approval.

"Yeah, that's the stuff. That's what I mean. I'll get some grub for our little tenant." He grabbed an old beer tray from the countertop and started pulling out plates and cutlery, making a lot of noise as usual. "Oh, and let's have a perpetual pot of java."

Midget nodded, happy to be useful and not having to deal with dead bodies. This job would suit him well. He hoped it continued. Cooking was easy compared to his old duties. He might have a future with the Joker after all.

Charlie came into the kitchen from outside where he had just returned from delivering Claire's note to Doris' mail slot. He looked around the kitchen, taking in the scent of Midget's cooking.

"Mission accomplished?" Joker looked over at Charlie in expectation.

"Yup. No one saw me. Tripped over a cat the size of a city bus in the hallway but he won't tell." Charlie joked.

"Well, Charles." Joker handed him a plate. "Take a break. Have some sustenance. And tell me about your meeting with the flower in the attic."

Charlie took a look at the boss and noted how well he cleaned up from earlier this morning. He seemed to be making an effort to look good for someone. He took the plate of eggs and toast and took a seat at the table. He watched Joker arranging items on the tray that was destined for the forth floor.

"What's your impression of our … of my… guest." Joker poured coffee and sat it on the tray. "Was she on her best behaviour?"

"She's sort of a classy woman." Charlie admitted, poking at the unfamiliar state of the eggs in front of him. "That accent and all." He scraped the cream sauce away to have a better look.

"She's top drawer, one of a kind." Joker agreed quickly. "Do you think she's pretty?"

Midget turned from the stove toward Charlie who was struck dumb. He looked back at the cook. They both knew this was a loaded question. If he said she was attractive, Joker might accuse him of wanting to make a move on her but if he didn't say she was attractive, he might be offended. Joker was waiting and he decided he would just be honest.

"She's very attractive, boss. I have to admit. She's older than you though, right? She's probably even a little older than me?"

Joker's eyes slid over to where Charlie tried his first bite of eggs. He seemed to approve and went for another. Midget stood rigid, spatula in mid air, waiting for the boss's response to Charlie's appreciation of the woman upstairs.

"Did she like the clothes?" Joker asked casually.

"She thought they might belong to a dead woman at first." Charlie smiled at that and Midget snorted a little laugh, appreciating the joke.

"Well…" Joker grabbed the morning paper and put it on the tray. "If you so much as _**think**_ about fucking her…. they'll belong to a dead widow."

Claire was sitting in the armchair when Joker opened the door. She looked up only to confirm it was him and then looked away, solemn and miserable. He flourished the tray around like an expert waiter. He kicked the door closed behind him and headed for the table by the bed and set it down.

"Miss me Pumpkin? Is that why you're looking glum?" He went to sit on the bed close to the arm chair.

She wouldn't make eye contact with him. Instead she pulled her legs up into the chair with her, crossed, yoga style, and looked past him to the door.

He noticed that she was dressed in the clothes from yesterday. She had combed her hair but hadn't applied any make-up. She looked surprisingly rested.

"Did you sleep okay?"

Nothing.

"Claire, I don't like being ignored."

Nothing.

The silence got heavy. It got burdensome. She continued to look past him.

"Okay then." He finally spoke again. "If you treat me like I'm not in the room, then you can eat alone. Oh… and no computer for you today….."

"You said!" She suddenly looked up, furious with indignation.

"I said." He moved into her space and grasped her upper arm with a gloved hand, pulling her forward in the chair, closer to where his face levelled with hers. His strength, the coiled fury of the movement, surprised her. She noticed that his paint was fresh and stark. The moist blood red mouth set her nerves on edge. His eyes were darkened with anger, black pieces of flint in wide pits of coal. "I said if you were good. You're not-t being good-d. You're being a pain in the ass and you don't deserve any computer time."

"Please?" She winced at his grip on her arm. "I really need to…"

"I don't care what you neeeeed." His voice had moved into that low register that vibrated with malice. He squeezed even harder and his other hand disappeared for a second and she looked around nervously, watching for the knife to appear. "Your needs don't concern me." His tongue swept out to each corner of his scarred mouth and he moved forward some more, his nose nearly touching hers. "I bring you food and clothes and offer my company and you act like an ungrateful little ….. " His eyes slipped downward for a second, at her mouth and lingered there. She pulled back, trying to put some distance between them, regardless of the pain he was inflicting on her arm. He gave a disgusted grunt and shoved her back into the chair roughly and stood up.

"I'll be back later, with supper. I want you dressed in something…_**anything**_ else and ready to play chess … oh, and ready to be social. We have things to discuss, Claire. We have things to work out before, and even _**if**_, you leave here."

He strolled toward the door and just as his hand reached the knob, she spoke up.

"Please don't go."

He stopped where he was but didn't turn around. He waited.

"I'm sorry. I want you to stay." She said it quickly, quietly.

She couldn't see him smiling and he tried to hide it in his voice as he answered her.

"No, Claire. I really don't want to be with you right now. I'll be back later." He proceeded to leave. Closing the door and working on the locks, he stopped for a moment, using his hand to stifle the rising giggles but enjoying this so much. He couldn't wait until supper time. He couldn't wait for the surprise he had for her.


	9. Chapter 9 Super Sane

The Endgame

Chapter Nine

Super Sane

The Joker turned off the shower and shook his head like a dog to fling most of the water out of his now nearly all naturally dark blonde hair. It had taken several shampoos but the green rinse was mostly gone. He would have to re-apply it later tonight or in the morning to bring him back to what he thought of as his normal hair colour, but the return to blonde was necessary for his meeting with Claire.

He stepped out into his bathroom. Using the edge of the damp towel, he wiped the steam from the cracked mirror and looked back at his freshly scrubbed face. He got his razor ready to achieve that close shave he needed so no stubble showed through the white base paint. Shaving those ridged scars, especially the ones on the left side, was an art he had perfected. He did it every day but tonight, he would leave the paint off. Standing before the sink, naked, he dropped a fresh blade into the safety razor and turned his head from side to side to get a good look at what had to be his most defining feature for others who saw him – the scars.

While he didn't really care, he was curious as to what her reaction would be when she got a good look at what was left of her dear sweet Jack. Would she finally let go of her charming delusion that he – that boy – was still in him? Certainly she was aware of them. They were clearly visible even with the paint; in fact, he applied the crimson lip paint and extended it up each cheek with the intent of drawing attention to his scars. If you have them, why not flaunt, or at least use them to good effect? The effect was mostly horror and revulsion and sometimes pity. The pitying looks were the ones that really got him stoked for violence. Imagine someone being that stupid or condescending or whatever the hell it was, to pity the person who is about to separate them from their life? But he could see it at times, the infuriatingly smug look of pathos directed at him before he ended their existence. These were the specimens of humanity he enjoyed disposing of the most.

There was a hard rap on the door to the combination bedroom/bathroom suite that was identical for every floor of the tenement with a mirror image of each across a center hallway and staircase. Joker didn't flinch. His men knew they never intruded on his personal living quarters under any circumstances.

"Boss? We're leaving now." Midget called through the outer door. "Supper's warm in the oven, wine's breathing on the counter top and … what?" Joker could hear a muffled voice talking to Midget who was interrupted for a second. "Boss, Charlie wants to know if you're sure you don't' want someone hanging around downstairs for security tonight? He's ready to stay."

Joker leaned out of the bathroom and shouted across the bedroom to his employees outside the door.

"No, I'm good. Charlie, do I have to keep telling you to go home and fuck your wife? Can't you think of that on your own?"

There was laughter in the hallway and Midget yelled back.

"We're outta here then. I'll be here to start cooking at seven. Charlie's arranging a meeting with Freddy tomorrow to talk about the Armory some more."

"Oh goody. Now bugger off!"

He heard the retreating footsteps that indicated he was about to be alone in the building – well, with the exception of a woman upstairs who must be getting hungry. He wondered what she had done all day by herself. He'd soon find out.

He made several trips up several flights of stairs to accumulate items outside her door. Things to make her stay more comfortable, like a mini combo radio/CD player, a set of new bedding, fresh towels and a small television with DVD player. They didn't have cable hook-up here but she could watch movies to her heart's content. He had an extensive collection to share with her. Granted, since it was his own collection, most were made before either of them were born, but beggars could not be choosers, the way he saw it.

He had supper piled on the old beer tray as he undid the locks with one hand. After his usual pause to make sure she wasn't waiting with her latest improvised concussive device, he moved into the room and noticed that the bathroom door was closed. He put supper on the bed while he moved the piles of household items from the hallway into the room. He could see the lava lamp on the night stand, glubbing away silently, sending eery shadows up the walls. The chess board was waiting, set up properly, as before, with his black army awaiting him. He saw that she had been busy using the pad of paper, pen and morning issue of the Gotham Times he had left behind to do a day's worth of research for her currency trading. He took a quick look at her tiny, scrawled notes, meandering over twenty or so pages, making little sense to him but undoubtedly, forming some sort of useful picture in her mind. The margins of each page were clogged with tiny doodles of flowers and hearts and what looked to be some sort of vague amoebic creatures. She _**was**_ fascinating.

He pulled the small table by the boarded up window over to sit near the armchair as he pulled up the straight back chair to form a little dinner table for the two of them. He started to unload plates and utensils, uncork the wine, and uncover the lasagna that Midget had whipped up for supper. The aroma was making his stomach growl. He looked up at the bathroom door for some sign that she was coming to join him. She must have heard him come in. He got ready for whatever reaction she might have to his new appearance.

He was standing at the table, pouring wine, when she opened the bathroom door, shutting off the light behind her. She was wearing a pale yellow dress coming about mid calf, sleeveless with a bodice that criss-crossed her bosom and settled off the shoulder just a little, just a smidge provocative. She had on her usual pearl collar and her hair was piled on her head in a messy array of waves. She had applied her familiar eyeliner and lipstick. She hadn't looked at him yet as she was smoothing down the skirt of the obviously expensive dress with her free hand. He noticed that she wore a pair of gold high heeled pumps on her feet. She finally looked up as she began to speak.

"I thought I should at least try on some of those……." She stopped mid-sentence as her eyes fell on him.

She almost thought it wasn't him at all at first. But then she noticed that he was dressed in his usual dandy way; brown cord suit, russet coloured vest, paisley shirt, the familiar watch chain glimmering in the low light against his hip. His hair was pulled back except for the long tendrils of dark blonde curls that fell out of the loose pony-tail and framed his face. His face.

The tall young man who looked back at her with dark eyes and a calm, almost sullen expression, was at once familiar and a stranger. The scars that ravaged each cheek in cruel furrows expanded for a second in her perception and then contracted as the corners of his mouth suddenly drew up into a grin that was reassuring. The smile extended to the beautiful, velvety brown eyes, and she knew him.

"Jack." She whispered his name, as though she thought saying it louder might startle him or make him disappear. She didn't approach. She just stood there with her hand to her mouth, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and wonderment.

He looked at her and turned his head to the side, eying her like he wasn't sure what to expect of her.

She began to take a few steps closer. He warned her.

"Be sure to squint as you approach. You may be blinded by my beauty." He enunciated it perfectly, quoting from a source familiar to both of them. It made her smile.

"The Lion in Winter." She said softly. "Wonderful play."

"Great movie too." He nodded as she continued to get closer. "But only the Peter O'Toole/Katharine Hepburn version. I have it for you. In that pile of media over there." He pointed to the corner by the door where he had piled her new toys. She didn't even glance over. She continued to stare as she was just a few feet away now.

"It's rude to stare. Didn't your Daddy teach you that?"

She didn't answer.

"Are you hungry? Midget outdid himself. Wine?"

Nothing.

"Mothership to Claire. What's up Buttercup? Cat got your tongue?" He waited.

That's when she wobbled a little and grabbed the armchair to steady herself.

"Whoa." He stepped forward and grasped her elbow and helped her take a seat. He sat down on the other side of the table and handed her a glass of wine. "Were you going to faint on me?" He asked in such a sweet, concerned way, it made her catch her breath.

"No, I'm just not used to heels anymore. Can't walk…." Her thoughts trailed off and she took a quick gulp of wine and then looked at him again.

"Well, they are shocking." He gestured to his disfigurements with a casual hand. "Can be a lot to take in the first time you get to see them all unadorned-d." He grinned and she noticed his voice was the same. It was still the Joker's odd way of articulating. But this man was definitely more than the Joker. He was also Jack, all grown up, fully mature and despite the twin scars, handsome as ever.

"It's not that." She said with certainty. "It's just that you haven't changed much at all except you're …."

"Legal?" He looked brazenly into her eyes as he tasted the wine.

She was startled how that one word, and all it implied, unleashed a ticklish sensation through her torso, settling low, in regions long neglected. She averted her gaze and shifted a little in the chair, realizing that she was actually feeling a little light-headed. She hoped he didn't notice. She knew by now that he could read people like cue cards. She felt instantly embarrassed and alarmed at what was happening.

"You look great in that dress." He raised his glass to her. "And I dig the hair all piled up like that. Just begging to be …. _**undone**_." He said the word in a low, gritty, dangerous purr.

She unconsciously reached up to touch her hair and his gaze dropped to her cleavage as he licked his lips with a soft smacking sound. "Hungry?"

She looked down at the food on the plate he had put in front of her and she realized that her appetite had left her completely. "No."

"Ah com'on Dumpling', Midget slaved over this."

She had been tempted to tell him before that she didn't like the way he seemed to consult some sort of weird thesaurus of corny endearments to address her in every possible, demeaning, chauvinist, patriarchal, condescending nickname he could dream up, but she decided that she could endure it a little longer before raising the issue.

"Kumquat?"

"What?" She answered instantly.

"Why have you carried that black queen around with you all these years?" He referred to the key chain, his one and only gift to her, asking the question casually, like he was only mildly interested. He tasted the lasagna and made an appreciative sound as to its goodness. He hardly looked at her while she tried to formulate an answer.

"Why not? Everyone needs a key chain, right?" She reasoned, pushing at the food with her fork, trying to understand why her stomach was not at all interested despite not having eaten since much earlier in the day. She hoped that would end his line of questioning.

"Ya know. In my experience, everyone has at least fifteen key chains cluttering up every corner of their life. Every muffler shop, insurance crook, psychic and dry cleaner gives them out to customers. You must have accumulated your share. But you still hung on to that beat up, poorly constructed artifact." He watched her finally look at him shyly, meeting his gaze and silently acknowledging that she had no other explanation to offer.

"Honey, I'm flattered." He admitted.

"No one ever…."she tried to explain it better. "No one ever knew me so well as to give me something so personal and appropriate. It was the most personalized gift I ever got. I couldn't leave it behind."

"You're so sweet." He bit softly into the smaller scar that creased his bottom lip as he leaned in a little closer and contemplated her seriously. "I think I'll just have _**you **_for dessert, hmmm?"

Claire fought to take her eyes off of him but it was just so interesting to see him sitting there, across from her, all grown up. A million different emotions seemed to flood her brain as she tried to sort out what, if anything, it meant that he had removed the paint and allowed her to see him. Would this jeopardize her chances of leaving here alive? Did it matter that she could identify him? She could have most likely done that anyway. What was he up to? She reminded herself, again, that this was the Joker. She remembered that this was still the same young man who murdered another man in front of her yesterday. And she knew his reputation from the news. He was dangerous and deadly. She had to get her head around that fact to keep her equilibrium in this situation. Her life might depend on it. She noticed a lump under the left side of his partly opened vest.

He followed her gaze and gave a little chuckle. He undid the remaining buttons of the oxblood coloured vest and revealed a gun in a leather shoulder holster.

"You like? Something Charlie picked up for me. Thought I should be armed since I'm alone now at night. Very cool, eh? I feel like a G-man." He brushed fingertips lovingly against the burnished brown leather.

"A G-man?" She picked up on the anachronism. "Are you still watching those old movies?"

"You should give'em a try, Kitten. Nothing like the old gangster flicks. Jimmy Cagney, Edward G., Bogie. Now those were some bad boys. What I'd give to have those goons working for me. We'd have this whole operation humming like a well-oiled machine."

"What _**is **_your operation?" She ventured, wondering at her own nerve. "I mean, what are you trying achieve with all this … this crime?"

"So you think I'm a garden variety criminal? Is that it?" He challenged her calmly, looking at his nails like they had become the most interesting thing in the room.

"Well, you have murdered and robbed and kidnapped and destroyed a lot of property. What would you call that?" Her tone was not accusatory. It was clear that she really wanted to understand this path he had taken.

"I call it _an-ar-chy_. Look it up." He informed her, his mood turning toward a darker place.

She was instantly sorry that she had brought it up because she had forgotten one element in all of this. His sanity.

As if her thought had risen out of her head in a cartoon bubble for him to read, he jumped right on it.

"You think I'm crazy?" He leaned in a little closer now and pushed his plate of food to the side to put his hands on the table.

She didn't respond. She looked into his eyes and tried to see the answer.

"I'll save you the trouble." He licked his lips and gestured into the air with his hand like he could see it written there. "Anarchy - Medieval Latin anarchia, from the Greek, anarchos having no ruler. Meanings include the following: absence of government, a state of lawlessness or political disorder due to the absence of governmental authority, a Utopian society of individuals who enjoy complete freedom without government, absence or denial of any authority or established order, absence of any kind of _fucking_ order."

"It's just words. How does any of it give you the right to kill?"

"Right to kill? If I was over in the middle east, wearing the uniform, would you be asking me who gave me the right to kill?"

"But that's war…." She tried to reason with him.

"_Undeclared_ war. Never mind. It doesn't matter. That's beside the point. The point is I reject any man made proposition that includes any control over my right to express myself in any way I see fit. That includes any type of authority represented by government, culture, society or the masses of sheep who populate this city and the world at large. They do not represent _**me.**_ They do not own _**me**_. They do not define who _**I am**_. People are asleep. They are on remote control. They are allowing themselves to be herded and prodded and lulled into a false sense of reality." He took a breath and pushed the loose tumbling hair away from his face in an exasperated gesture.

She watched him carefully. It was quite a speech. It was difficult to argue with it. Beyond the fact that it was just plain against the law, he called into question the law itself and whether it pertained to him at all. That was an interesting take. She had wondered about this herself, during her time in Arkham. She wondered what huge wheel was put in motion that landed her in that waking nightmare with no method of escape. Who had really been in charge of the ones in charge and what sane society subjected people to a place like Arkham? And who had the right to keep her there and then continue to punish her by marking her with words written in reports that she couldn't erase so that she found herself shoved outside of all polite society and unaccepted; unable to participate in the occupation she loved. Who had the right and who gave it to them, by what authority?

He was staring into his wine. She looked at his hands settled on the table top around the stem of his wine glass and noticed that one had a slight tremor. She was reminded that he had been in that nightmare place as well. What things had he been subjected to? What sinister, synthetic concoctions had they injected into him to make him comply? How much damage had been done in the name of justice and science? She felt the urge to reach out and steady that hand. But she could also sense she had offended him and she didn't know what he was thinking. She was still afraid of him and his unpredictable nature.

"If you want insanity." He finally spoke again, quieter, more composed. "Just stand on any street corner and observe what passes for civilized society. We need to bomb it and burn it all."

"And start over again?" She asked gently.

"Oh, no, no." He looked up again at her and a smile played at the corners of that ravaged mouth.

"Then what's the point?"

"There is no point." He explained like she was hopeless. " The point is ….. there _is_ no point to anything. People are random organisms - like viruses and bacteria. Do you ask a virus if it has a point beyond existing for the sake of existence? No. No. It just is. But knowing this, is better than being shackled into slavery by low minds who can't handle the truth and try to turn us all into happy little consumers and put us all in our respective pigeon holes and condemn us to this cozy little lie."

"So you're here to tell us all that the emperor has no clothes?" She was honestly trying to follow this. It was fascinating.

"I'm not just here to tell everyone that the emperor has no clothes. I'm here to point out that there aren't any emperors and then gut the bastard to send a message to those who would try and impose any sort of rule or order on so-called society."

"And after all rule and all order is eliminated, what does that leave?"

"It's not my place to decide. Anyway, I'll be long gone before it's all accomplished. I'm just doing my bit."

"Gone where?"

"Dead." He stated matter-of-factly. He noted the shocked look on her face and started a low giggle, lightening his serious mood. "My god Claire. How long do you think I'm going to last in this occupation? Charlie's the oldest guy I know in this line of work. I'm pretty sure I'll be gone ahead of him cause I have more enemies. Hell, even my cook wants to shoot me in the back." He blew out his breath, still chortling a little at the macabre thought of an early grave. "You better get me while you can, Toots. It's a limited engagement." He nodded at her sagely.

"Then stop." She sat back in her chair and looked at him like she was very offended at what he had just told her. "Just stop."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm awake and I can't go back to sleep." He said it like it made perfect sense. "Then I guarantee - I really would go crazy."

She was quiet for a few moments, just taking it all in. He watched her carefully, enjoying the chance to talk all this over with a mind keen enough to digest it.

"Did I depress you with all this nihilism?" He reached across and grasped her hand in his own. It was a natural gesture, more friendly than controlling and she looked down at her hand in his. His thumb stroked her palm gently. How could that be the hand of a cold-blooded killer? Someone who was known to torture and show no regard for the safety of innocents when he rigged his explosives in public places. Some called him a terrorist. Others called him a lunatic.

"It does make me sad that people have to die and that you are so certain that you will die young." She was honest and looked at him, not removing her hand from his.

"Everything dies. Everything has an expiration date. Everyone eventually shuffles off this mortal coil and enters oblivion. Oblivion seems under-rated as far as I'm concerned. Just think of the peace. The freedom. The unending calm."

"You have a death wish." She concluded and his hand immediately retreated.

"Just the opposite. I wish to live as fully and completely awake and alive as I can. I'm just aware that the way I go about it will lead to a dirt nap before I need to worry about any grey hair."

She watched the hand that had been holding hers disappear below the table and she wondered about the knife. Then she looked at his face again and was startled at how young he actually was. As Joker, with the cracks and creases in the face paint, he had appeared much older.

"Are you angry with me for saying that you have a death wish?"

"Do you care that I might be angry with you?" He licked his lips and tilted his head a little, challenging her, eyes sparkling with playfulness.

"It would be better for me to not make you angry, I guess..." She reasoned quietly, "because you have the knife and the gun and the keys." She nodded over to the closed door. "But as long as you're already angry..."

"You said that. I didn't." He pointed out tersely.

"As long as you're already angry ...," she repeated and continued, "I may as well address the elephant in the room."

"Elephants?" He said excitedly, like a little kid. "Oooooh, are we at the circus? Are there ponies and little dogs jumping through hoops? Hmmm?"

"The scars." She didn't laugh at his attempt at humour.

He stopped kidding around and watched her carefully, waiting for how she would approach the topic that seemed to tickle all the sensitive places in his psyche. How skilled would she be at avoiding all those mine fields?

"Go on." He nodded at her and put both hands back on the table.

"Well, I'm not going to ask the obvious question."

"Which is?"

"The origin of the scars." She said carefully. "It's none of my business and it's in the past."

"Hmmmm." He waited.

"I was wondering more about if they bother you now. Is there any pain or sensitivity?" She asked calmly, not staring at him like he was a curiosity, no sign of pity. "I notice that you do seem to be bothered by them a bit."

"Oh, you mean the tongue thing?" He poked at the left corner of his mouth as it to illustrate. "That's part of the tardive dyskinesia - courtesy of Thorazine, Stelazine and Seroquel to mention just a few of the top ten or twenty. It seems my nervous system is just a tad fried from all the good _**stuff **_they dish out at Arkham." He paused a moment and then passed his right hand over the terrain of the right scar. "This one is healed better. No idea why. Just put back together better so there is some feeling left - no pain." Then he moved his hand to the other side and pushed his forefinger along in the bumpy trail of the twisted line of scarring that marred the left side of his face. "This one, like most of my adult life so far, is a mystery. Looks nothing like the other one. It's almost as if they happened on two different occasions and this one, according to the docs at Arkham, may have been self-inflicted and possibly even self-repaired." He watched for her to flinch or wince but she just watched him calmly, so he went on. "It's completely numb. The severed nerves never went back to make a connection so the whole side of my face is like - not there. Except in winter, when it gets really cold. If I'm out in the elements too long, it hurts like a bitch."

"But it doesn't hurt now." She wanted to understand.

"No, no. No pain."

"And your mouth?"

"My, you are a curious little bunny, aren't you?" He teased but went ahead and answered her. "My mouth is fine. There's the little scar on the bottom lip but I don't know it's there. Good thing I can still feel my mouth, hmmmm? I mean, with all those wonderful sensations available. I love kissing. I mean - I love it. Almost as much as ......"

"Too much information now." She smiled at him and he bit his bottom lip and chewed at it to taunt her.

"You started it." He reminded her with a smirk that was playful.

"And.....I think I better end it."

"Ah, and it was just getting interesting." He pulled a pout that made her smile more.

It amazed her how playful he could be and amazed her more that she could enjoy his company so much when he was a clear and present danger. She thought back to the shrink she saw in England and how much fun he would have had with this particular situation. Dr. Cohen used to scold her for her risk-taking, thrill-seeking behaviour. Sorting her out, as he used to put it. He was always trying to sort her out. She wondered if he could sort _this_ out. The fact that this man could, and probably would, kill her. But she hadn't felt so close, so in sync, with another human being, in years. Maybe ever. She only wished the circumstances were not so overwhelmingly on his terms. She didn't like being his prisoner.

"If you let me go." She put a proposition out there. "I promise I will see you and we can continue this. We can meet for chess. We might even be able to be friends again."

He looked at her like he was astounded at what she had just said. Then he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes as they began to cloud with suspicion.

"Ohhhh, ho, ho." He nodded and pointed at her. "You're good."

She shook her head slowly, protesting silently against his unspoken accusation.

"No. No." He told her firmly. "I need more. I'm greeeeedy where you're concerned. I need more of a ...... ah, commitment."

"Commitment?"

"Is there an echo in here?" He looked around him, feigning confusion and she rolled her eyes.

"I will promise."

"Sure you will. You'd promise to do anything to get out of here." He was way ahead of her. "No. What I need is something more. I'm sure we'll be able to work something out, Lamb Chop."

She finally gave in to her frustration, having calculated that she had nothing to lose. She just told him plainly.

"Jack, you have to let me go. I have a life. I have things to do. I have appointments."

"Oh, you mean, like with Dr. Jenson?" He challenged her to a discussion that she would most likely try to avoid.

"Yes. Like with Dr. Jenson."

"He's a gynecologist. I looked him up. What the hell are you doing seeing a gynecologist? You got problems down there?" He let his eyes drop suggestively and she bristled at the faint feeling of violation. "Something I could help out with?"

She continued to glare, not reacting to his taunting.

"Well, you're not pregnant. That's a certainty. " He reminded her just how intimately he knew her right now. "Anyway, you're getting to that point where that clock should be winding down. Not ticking like a time bomb, hmmmm?" He waited for her to respond, knowing full well how many boundaries and sensitive areas he was violating. "Don't get me wrong. You are well and truly, sublimely .... fuckable, but a little past the point of bibs and booties."

She regarded him coldly and sat back in the arm chair to add to the distance between them. "How dare you." She muttered through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I dare. That's something you can count on from me, baby doll." He nodded at her to make his point. "Anyway, you're not pregnant....."

"Not _**yet**_." She interrupted hm.

She waited for his retort but for once, he had nothing to say. He just looked at her in a way that almost made her laugh out loud. She had taken him completely by surprise. He looked downright - alarmed.


	10. Chapter 10 Roll The Dice

The Endgame

Chapter Ten

Roll the Dice

"You really know how to spoil a guy's appetite." He finally spoke after her startling interruption.

"I had to bring this up. It's the reason I have to get out of here. I have plans and I have things to do to make sure it all happens on time." She was relieved to have this out in the open. She felt now that he would understand why he had to let her go.

"Ah…" He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment as if reacting to a headache and then opened them again and shook his head like he was shaking off a bad dream. "Let's play the game while we discuss this … this, whatever it is, you need to do, okay?" He looked at her warily like she had suddenly become dangerous.

They moved over to the chess board where she took her place on the edge of the bed behind the white chess pieces. He pulled the straight back chair from the dinner table over to sit across from her, taking the black. They took a moment to settle as he handed her a glass of wine and then sat down, slouching a little, as he studied her, clearly puzzled.

"What?" She caught his expression and was anxious to get this thing out of the way. "Ask away. I know you're wondering."

"Well, yeah. I'm wondering." He sat up and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers together as he rolled his eyes, trying to figure out where to begin. "I'm wondering why the female of our species always feels like they are unfulfilled if they don't add to the population of this dooooomed planet."

"It's biological. It's hard-wired. We can't help it." She moved a pawn out two spaces to the centre. "I mean, there are some that escape it."

"The really, really, smart ones." He pointed out. "I thought you'd be one of those."

"Jack. I have no one. No. One."

"Considering the ones you might have, that could be a very good thing." He reasoned, moving a knight toward her army. He took a sip of wine. "I think I might have to get drunk now. This is making me so _**depressed**_. And that's sayin' a lot, ya know. I'm usually a fairly undepressable guy."

"I've thought it through carefully. I've been preparing for nearly a year. That's why you need to let me get back to my life. I have an appointment and preparations to make leading up to it. And I've worked very hard getting enough money together to pay for it all. It's not cheap having a baby by yourself – especially the getting pregnant part."

He winced at the word and she smiled at his reaction.

"You know when Charlie brought your meds and there was no birth control, I just assumed that you had done something permanent about it. Something sensible. You know, the old knot in the tubes?"

"I know I'm old to be considering this but I'm still fertile. Well, as fertile as you can be at my age. The chances of this working are not great but I'm trying to stay positive."

"What are you doing, exactly, and I know I'm going to regret that I ever asked." He looked at her with trepidation. She was amazed how disturbed he seemed about this.

She smiled and added a knight to her front line. "A.I. – artificial insemination. Dr. Jenson is a wizard at it. He has a very good outcome rate. So, I have a date on or close to the fifteenth to give it a chance. But I have to make arrangements at the donor clinic, sign papers, and other things, to be ready for the day. I need my basal kit to keep track of my cycle for the five days leading up to it." She wasn't shy about sharing her situation.

"You mean the turkey baster thing?" He squinted at her and grimaced like he smelled something unpleasant.

"Yes." She laughed out loud at the face he was making. "But it's not a turkey baster. They use a syringe and a tube. It's all very clinical."

"You gave up on a relationship? You really want to do this alone?"

"I'm not interested in even _**trying**_ the relationship thing." She said confidently. "I really don't believe I'm any good at it."

"Well, you married Gary." He reminded her, pushing his other knight toward the centre. "You must have believed in it then."

"Not really." She admitted, taking a sip of wine. "I just wanted a baby. I'm not marriage material. So, this is perfect. I can have a child without having to navigate the choppy waters of matrimony or a relationship. Remember, we decided that marriage blows?"

"Well, what about the choppy waters, and typhoons, and shipwrecks, of parenthood? You think you're up to that?" He looked at her doubtfully.

"I know what you're thinking…" She stopped contemplating the board and looked at him.

"Hmmm?"

"You're thinking that with my psychological problems that I wouldn't be a good mother."

"Well?" He wasn't going to let her off easily.

"I'm doing better. I've worked hard to figure out my short-comings and my quirks and the way ordinary life seems to leave me befuddled…" She seemed to be trying to convince herself more than him and the catch in her voice gave away her lingering uncertainty.

He felt something odd when he watched her so desperately trying to defend her decision. It must be something like sympathy, he reasoned, without having first hand experience of that particular emotion. It was difficult to watch her floundering with something that was out of her control. She couldn't help who she was any more than he could help who _**he **_was.

"Are you taking fertility drugs?"

"No. No. See? There's something." She seemed to get excited as she explained. "I purposely declined fertility drugs because even though I know it would help my chances immensely, I know I can't take the chance of a multiple birth. I can only handle one child. I know my limits. I honestly do. I'm being responsible." She watched him for a reaction.

"Yeah, I mean….twins….that's like ….well, twice as bad." He didn't know what to say and that was a rarity. He frowned at his very lame response. This was truly uncomfortable for him.

"Jack, can't you just try to understand? I need to go home."

He looked at her seriously for a moment and then shook his head in that odd way, like he was erasing an etch-a-sketch to start over again.

"Look, we're playing a game here, remember?" He pointed at the board. "And you're ruining it with all this mother hen _**garbage**_." He chewed on the last word for effect. "Are you forgetting our earlier conversation about the state of this world and how modern life is a farce? Hmmm? Do you really want to bring a child into a world that has guys like _**me**_ in it?"

"I will protect my child. It's instinct." She argued, taking up another pawn.

"Yeah, until it goes to school and becomes programmed to run with the delusional masses, to grow up to fit some pre-ordained role, like veal in a holding pen, slotted into an artificial sense of well-being because they 'fit in'." It was clear he had thought of this before.

"Except my child will not go to school." She challenged him. "I'm a teacher, remember? I'll home school. I intend to keep my child a free thinker, an individual, not afraid to swim upstream or shake a few cages. He can explore his own educational pursuits without the negative effects of social programming. I'll guide him right through pre-school, grade school, middle school and high school, until he can write his SAT's and find a university or college, if he wants it."

"He?" Joker caught her reference to a son.

"Well, I admit, I want a boy. But a girl would be okay too." She looked at his curious expression. "It's your move."

"Why a boy?"

"Because they just have more options. They can be more free-wheeling and don't feel the social pressure that girls do."

"Oh, but you're going to spare your child from social pressure, remember?" He nodded at her, trying to drive home how futile her hopes were.

"Don't make fun of me." She looked down into her wine, resting her dark head in her left hand, sighing deeply and looking somewhat defeated.

"You're lonely Sweetheart. That's all. Get a puppy. You want me to get you a puppy?" He was serious in his offer, feeling again, that odd tug in his chest at her misery.

She didn't say anything. He wanted to reach across and touch her face. Just a little caress right there along that soft cheek, rosy now from wine and emotion. Women with babies on their mind were always certain to drive his libido underground immediately. The Joker had actually had a few, extremely besotted, not to mention, misguided, women, in his life express their overwhelming desire to give birth to his offspring. It was always the last conversation they ever had. As much as he hated having to forgo the pleasure of full-on penetrative intercourse in most of his encounters with women, he was meticulous in his practice of safe sex. Because of his extreme dislike, and mistrust, of condoms, and his even greater loathing of the idea of actually impregnating anyone, his sex practices leaned heavily toward the oral variety. Yet, here she was, in full monthly flow, talking about insemination and fertility and her desire to give birth and he was still finding her so very alluring. Maybe because she wasn't eying him as the potential father. That thought brought him up short for a second, languishing in a sort of confusion that began to make him even more uneasy.

"So, who's the Dad?" He suddenly wanted to know more, not less, about her venture. "Is old Ham bone gonna do his little friend a solid?"

'We did discuss it." Claire admitted. "Ham would be a wonderful candidate, actually. But he's a sensitive guy and he doesn't think he could father a child biologically without feeling the need to parent it as well. And, it might strain our friendship which is very important to both of us. So, I had to rule him out. But, he's on board, ready to support me in this. The baby will have an instant Uncle Ham."

"So you're fucking him, right?"

"I told you before.." She grit her teeth in frustration. "I am not, as you so charmingly put it, _**fucking**_, Ham. Can't you put things a little more delicately? You have an above average vocabulary. Why don't you use it?"

He chuckled deeply at her very teacherly advice. "It's a word that describes that activity perfectly. I usually reserve it just for that. And it sounds so much dirtier when you say it with that accent, I gotta tell ya." He leaned back in his chair and smiled. "So if you're not fucking Ham, who _**are **_you fucking? Hmmm?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Who are _**you**_ fucking?" She turned it around to demonstrate how invasive that question was. He didn't miss a beat.

"Connie." He answered flatly, without hesitation, "Oh, and … Marta, if Connie's unavailable."

"Really?" She looked at him in wonder. "That's very interesting. And do they know about each other?"

"They should. They're sisters."

Claire shook her head in wonder. "And anyone else you'd care to mention?"

"Well, there's that seamstress over at the tailor's last week. Took a little too much interest in my in-seam measurement-t. And well, she was down there on her knees already. We had a little thing happen while the Rusky was doing up the order."

"So, you're promiscuous." She concluded, feeling oddly disturbed by this discussion.

"Oh no." He giggled. "Women are promiscuous. I just …. get around." He said it without a shred of irony. "Okay, I shared….your turn." He waited.

"Well, I'm not having relations with anyone." She dropped his colourful word for the moment. "Thus, the need for a donor."

"Thus, the need…..did I tell you before? I love the way you talk." He spun his king on its square and licked his lips. "You could have any man you crooked your little finger at, Sugar, you gotta know that." He was confused. "Why resort to the unseen ocean of spermatozoa and take the chance on an anonymous knuckle dragger, political pinhead or Wall Street reptile?"

"It's a leap of faith, I guess." She was amused at how he could argue a point so graphically. "And if it's anonymous, there's less chance the father will have second thoughts later and want to get involved in our life."

"You're not adverse to risk, that's for sure." He picked up his glass of wine and held it up to her. "It's commendable, really. The lengths you are willing to go to get something you want. Despite that oh, so feminine veneer, you're a tough little biscuit."

She looked back at him, accepting the dubious compliment, a little more hopeful that he was finally getting this.

"It's between two donors. I've studied their profiles. One's an engineer and the other's a medical student."

"Well. Lah dee fuckin' dah. So, you don't actually meet them?"

"Oh, no. It's just a vial of sperm in a thermos, frozen solid. You go by the profile." She explained, moving her bishop out a couple of spaces.

"No videos? Not even a phone call? Candy gram?"

"No. It's better that it's anonymous like that. You know there are fewer donors now since they made it possible for the biological child to find the donor. Men don't want to have that headache later so less are deciding to donate. And, as I said, I certainly don't want the father involved in any way."

"So, just the fact they jerked off in a paper cup, doesn't entitle them to an invitation to the graduation ceremony?" He joked and she smiled patiently.

"My experience of fathers is not one that makes me feel they are required."

"Oh, don't get me started." He nodded sagely. That was one topic they were completely in agreement about. "My old man was like a plague. He died you know."

"He did?"

"Uh huh. I think I killed him."

The conversation stopped like a radio being unplugged. She just stared at him, frightened to continue but after a few moments, she gave him her entire focus and went ahead into the fear.

"Why do you think it was you who killed him?" She asked gently.

"Because I hated him and he died under suspicious circumstances that I just learned about last year. He was found shot in the head, at the end of the street we lived on. I don't remember it, of course, but later, when I learned about it, I thought I could have done it. I had thought about it. Even before I became who I am. I thought about doing him in. So….." He put his hands up in a gesture that indicated helplessness. "Why not me?"

"Did he die in Gotham?"

"No, we went back to Indiana after my mother died. He died there. A few years later. I only have a few memories of that house and trying to live with him. She asked me, in the last days, get this……she asked me, no, _**begged**_ me, to look after him. She still cared about that evil piece of shit. I had to try. But I hated the air he breathed and resented every moment he existed. It had to be me. I must have decided to finally take him out." Joker stared at the board in front of him and captured her pawn with his knight. "I'm not sorry if I did. But, something in me still feels that family should not kill family. It's unnatural, you know, anthropologically speaking."

"I met him once." Claire decided to share in this dark moment. "I came by to leave some homework for you when you didn't make it into school for a few days, looking after your mother. He stopped me at the door and wouldn't let me speak to you. I was on the back porch with him and he cornered me between the house and the railing. He frightened me more than any person, including the Joker, ever did. Your father had no soul, Jack. I looked into his eyes and he was an empty vessel."

"What did he do to you?" Joker asked, frowning in anticipation of her reply.

"He didn't have time to do much. You called from inside the house and he had to let me go." She assured him.

Joker thought about it for a few moments and then nodded, satisfied. "Then I'm glad if it _**was**_ me who did it."

Claire returned to the game as she tried to digest what he had just told her. It was difficult to know what to say. Normal sentiments toward his life just didn't seem to fit. It was like he had lived, and was living, a life completely out of the ordinary. It went outside the bounds of everyday experience. His life was about as much like the man on the street as a recently landed space alien.

"Your turn there Mommy." He turned away from the gloom and she rewarded him with a smile.

"So you understand?" She asked hopefully. "You can see that I need to take care of things?"

"Claire, you're losing already. You better concentrate on the game, Darling." He ignored her question and pointed at a weak spot in her line-up.

She went silent for the moment, complying with his order to concentrate on the game, but her mind was busy trying to figure out how she was going to get him to give in. He had to give in. There had to be a way. He interrupted her thoughts.

"So, if you don't _**meet**_ Mr. Right Donor and you don't get to eyeball him or have a conversation, how do you know it's not the village idiot, drooling and picking his nose?"

"Oh, lovely mental picture, Jack. Thank you so much."

"Well, just saying."

"Because of the profile. They fill in a questionnaire about their health, their hobbies, their accomplishments, even their family's medical background, any exposure to STD's, or other tendencies toward factors like drug addiction or heart trouble." She said emphatically, pleased at how official it sounded.

"And do they swear on a Bible or other good book of their choice that it's all true? Or do they leave it to the people who work at the clinic to check it all out and, in fact, keep all those little faceless and nameless vials, all sorted correctly, hmmmm?"

She looked up after she moved her bishop a little further, stalking his queen. She frowned at what he was inferring. He went on making his point.

"Guys jerking off in little paper cups, filling out questionnaires compiled for the sole purpose of accepting them so someone can be charged at some point for their frozen cumsicles, and all checked out by lowly, all-too-human clinic workers, maybe over-worked, and maybe pissed off at the boss, and maybe just stupid, charged with the ominous duty of ensuring that these donors are who they say the are and that you will, in fact, receive exactly the correct vial that you so carefully select and pay for." He shook his head and moved his queen out of her bishop's trajectory neatly. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster and maybe offspring that resembles Dr. Jenson just a little too much."

"What?" She looked alarmed. "What has he got to do with…?"

"Well, it's just the age old problem, and quite a few stories…" he looked up as though he was sifting his memory for examples, "about these turkey baster doctors indulging their ego a little too serioussssleeee, replacing the vials of donors with their own little swimmers so they can rule the world or something…." He let his voice trail off and she bent closer, eyes wide, trying to understand what he was saying. "But, it's probably just a rumour." He ended it cheerfully and reminded her. "Claire Bear – your move. Are you hungry? Snackies?"

She was staring at him in undisguised horror. He had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep from barking a laugh at her expression. He looked nonchalantly at the board and took another sip of wine. He could check her king now but decided to cut her some slack because of the obvious distraction she was suffering. He would toy with her a little longer. He wouldn't humiliate her with such an early kill.

"What are your odds?" He asked, remembering her notation in the day book beside her appointment with Dr. Jenson. It said 'roll the dice.'

"Five to seven percent." She said in a rather flat voice, still reeling from the very disturbing picture he had seeded in her mind about her plans. "That's why I needed to save my money. I'm going to have to do this often to get results. And I need to get started now because as you age, your eggs become less viable. The quality is poor."

"Oh I'm sure you got some fresh little ovum left." He made a big show of cheering her up, knowing full well, he had ruined her enthusiasm for the evening. "You're not that old."

She looked at him bleakly, accepting the very awkward encouragement with chagrin. "I'm not getting any younger."

"Look, Claire, you don't know that this will be a good thing. It could be horrible. Your mother died giving birth to you."

She looked startled.

"See? I remember. You told me that once. How your father was so disappointed to lose a beloved wife in exchange for a squalling baby who couldn't even carry on the family name." It reminded her of how they had shared so much when he was her favourite student. "How do you know you won't suffer the same fate, hmmm?"

"My mother had an aneurysm. It went undetected. It was a fluke. The hike in blood pressure giving birth caused it to rupture. She died before she even had a chance to see me." Claire told him quietly. "The chance of the same thing happening to me is very remote. I'm in good health. I had it checked out."

He could see her stubbornly retaining a hold on this ridiculous plan of hers. It was irritating to him that she continued to defend it. And she wasn't playing chess.

"Are you going to move or are you determined to ruin the evening with this?" He said tersely, getting her attention.

"It's important to me." She tried to make him understand.

"This game is important to _**me**_." He challenged her.

"You're not going to let me go home."

"I'm going to save you from making a very big mistake." He concluded, never actually thinking for a moment that her plans would make him change his.

"You can't stop me forever." She met his challenge and pushed her rook out too far into his territory.

"Are you forgetting that I can?" He stared at her, ready to remind her that Jack was a memory and that the Joker didn't care if her hand ever got to rock a cradle or if sperm donors told the truth or if she was lonely beyond comprehension. "I knew it was a mistake to take the paint off around you. I knew you'd get all confused. Mistaking me for someone you used to know." This was getting out of control. She had to be brought back down to earth.

Her eyes latched onto his and she didn't flinch. He watched her chest heave as she worked on a rising tide of anger that was actually thrilling to behold. He waited for her to express it. He could feel the air getting tighter around them where they sat, starting to swirl and curl in a way that he could sense like others could not.

"You're going to ruin everything, aren't you?" She finally spoke, darkness clouding her words as they drifted out towards him like smoke.

"Well, that's chaos for you." He smiled and then the smile cracked into a grin and her dark green eyes went nearly black with emotion as she reacted by raising her chin and looking at him as though she was warning him. He felt a sudden rush to the groin and he nearly swooned at the deep pleasure and desire she was awakening in him. He reached into his vest with his right hand and retrieved the magnum from its holster. He held it up for her inspection, the barrel pointing toward the ceiling. "It's why you should never make plans, Cookie. You're bound to be disappointed."

She looked at the gun and sniffed out a derisive laugh that made him blink in wonder at her nerve.

"I'm disappointed all right." She didn't show any sign of backing down and he was getting heady from the excitement of what she might do next. "But I'm not surprised. It's not the first time you've ruined something important to me, Jack. It's not the first time I've had to turn away from any possibility of happiness because of _**you**_."

They were just words, he told himself. She was venting. She was naturally upset and she wanted to hurt him. She just didn't realize that he was impervious to insults. He didn't get hurt – he just got angry. He could take her out right now. Just end this and get back to more important things. It was easy to reason his way toward using the gun. If she was so lonely, if her life was so unsatisfying, he might even be doing her a favour. As it stood now, no one of any consequence would miss her.

"Shut up." He snarled, knocking the chair back with his heel, standing up to get leverage on her where she sat on the bed, the chess board between them forgotten. He tilted the gun down now, aiming at her heart. Her eyes followed the barrel and then came back up to look into his eyes again. He thought he detected a strange fascination in her gaze as she continued to defy him.

"I won't shut up. I need to tell you that you're deluded. You're just a little bit sicker than they say you are. Because you actually believe all your own bullshit."

He made a violent sweep with his left arm and the table and chess board became airborne, disappearing from between them. The crash of wine glasses smashing against furniture and the floor and the chess pieces scattering in all directions made her pull back onto the bed quickly as he lunged toward her. He landed beside her as she attempted to leave the bed but he grasped her good arm and pulled her back down as he moved halfway on top of her pinning her casted arm under him as he pushed the gun against her throat. His right leg was over hers, to keep her subdued. She stopped fighting and just lay quietly against him.

They were both breathing heavily as she lifted her gaze to his, just inches away. They both seemed surprised to find themselves in this position.

"I've caused you a lot of grief. I guess I can cause a little more before we're done." He told her calmly. "I sent you to Arkham. I brought you to this wasteland of a life where you feel like you have to fill it with another human being, even if you have to demean yourself to do it."

He trailed the gun barrel up and along her jaw, his eyes trained on hers, looking there for some direction. Then he moved the gun up into her hair and nudged the barrel under the pins on the left side, causing some long dark waves to tumble down onto her shoulder. He blinked hard and then moved the gun back down to her throat and pushed it up under her chin harshly. She stayed very still, just watching his eyes calmly. She moistened her mouth before speaking.

"I shouldn't have said that." She told him urgently, ignoring the pain in her arm and the cold hard gun barrel against her throat. "It was my own fault. You were not to blame. I don't blame you for any of it. Please believe me, Jack."

He blinked hard, trying to sort out what was happening here. Part of him wanted this to end so badly. She continued.

"You just made me so angry. I attacked and I did it the wrong way. You had nothing to do with how my life turned out. And you're not deluded. You're the most brilliant person I know." She didn't let her eyes leave his as she spoke. She was trembling a little. She should be, he thought to himself, with disdain.

"You're just saying that because you'll say anything to live." He gave her a disgusted look and his leg clamped over hers a little tighter. With his groin pressed in against her hip, she could feel his arousal through the corduroy trousers.

"I'm saying it because I know I'm likely to die in a moment and I don't want to leave you with those angry, ugly words. I don't want you to think I actually believe that about you." She was a little breathless, reacting to the weight of him on her and to some rampaging emotion she couldn't name that was sweeping her toward some vague promise of ecstasy.

"Last words. Tell the truth." He growled and she heard the cold metallic click of the safety coming off. She closed her eyes, grasping the bedding with her left hand, ready to be launched into whatever lay on the other side of this dark, deranged thing she called a life. When she spoke, her voice was high and clear like a bell. There was no mistaking her words.

"I loved you so much. It was wrong. But I couldn't help it. I just loved you so much."

She waited. She listened to his breathing. She heard him make a sound, like a strangled gasp, deep in his chest. She kept her eyes closed. The pressure of the gun disappeared. She felt him lift himself from her. She rolled onto her left side, grasping pillows to her head and face, trying to calm herself.

Before she could compose herself to face him, she could hear the locks being done up on the outside of the door and he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11 A Cup Of Sugar

The Endgame

_Chapter Eleven_

_ A Cup of Sugar_

Charlie watched Midget scooting around the kitchen, deftly handling spatulas and small appliances. He was fascinated because for one thing, he, himself, could not cook but found the process like magic and for another thing, he knew he was watching a dead man.

The only thing that kept Midget alive was the fact that the Joker was enjoying the food. Especially the eggs Benedict. For Charlie, it was the French toast. Once this bizarre need to have home-cooked meals became a thing of the past for the Joker, Midget would cease to exist. What he had done, the disloyalty he had demonstrated, even with an unloaded gun, was sure to do him in. Joker was taking his time, making sure he wasn't in the mood for more Italian meat balls before dispatching the wee henchman to the other side. Charlie just hoped that when it happened, he wouldn't be asked to clean up the mess. He would do his best to convince the man requesting chocolate chips in his pancakes just now, to hire another young lackey to call on when the time came.

The Joker needed more employees. This was a fact. His more frequent excursions into Gotham to rob and pillage and create general mayhem was fast out-pacing his man power. When Joker got going, full steam, it was difficult to keep up, never mind anticipate trouble and keep everyone alive. For one thing, he needed a demolition expert. Joker was fond of explosives but lacked the patience necessary to set up proper rigging. He demonstrated basic knowledge but no respect for the fuses and timers and deadly ingredients he handled. Charlie was fairly sure that the Joker would not die in a blaze of gunfire or a knife fight, but most likely would be annihilated in the midst of setting one of his own hastily rigged explosive devices.

Waiting for his pancakes, the Joker was lost in thought. Claire's declaration last night at the moment she, and he, were convinced that she was going to cease to live, had taken him by surprise. That didn't happen often and the moment he felt himself reacting to, rather than controlling, events, he had to take his leave of her.

He had applied cold logic to her statement and decided it made sense in the past tense that she used. Of course she had loved him. Love being something he didn't believe in, but for lack of a better word, he could believe that she did feel that way at that point in time. He had been deluded enough at the time to believe that he loved her as well. But, as he learned, with time, romantic love is the most selfish type of affection possible. It is usually lust melded with possessiveness, the depth of which is in exact proportion to how special and esteemed the other person makes you feel. Totally selfish. Not love at all. Take away the boost to the ego. Let the other person disappoint or fail to make you feel special any longer and the "love" turns to quite the opposite in as much time as it takes to say "I think we should see other people." I love you until I don't anymore. I love you until you no longer make me feel good about myself. I love you until you bore the shit out of me and I want to kill you in your sleep.

The conversation with her last night about her ridiculous plan to have a baby with a donor had haunted him for hours afterwards. It had reminded him of an incident in the summer when he had taken a stray bullet in the stomach during a heist that got unusually chaotic due to delays in the fuses and the appearance of the Bat on the roof in the middle of all the mayhem. He had gotten separated from his men and finally had to stop and sit against a dirty wall in a filthy alley near the docks, exhausted from loss of blood. At that point, he was sure he was bleeding out and he was getting ready to die. He wasn't upset exactly but one totally unexpected thought had wafted into his foggy mind as he lost consciousness. When he died, all traces of him would go with him. There would be nothing at all left in this world that was a part of him. The stories would be told but each year they would be told less frequently until they lost their patina and then his name would fade and no one would mention him again. His body, his few meager material possessions, his hidden reserves of cash all over Gotham, his very DNA would fade into oblivion. He reasoned later that it was purely ego driven but it left him discomforted. His men came back for him and he recovered but that strange thought niggled at him every so often when he contemplated his death.

There was no lack of opportunity to spread his seed, to procreate, to allow one of his frequent and varied sex partners to become pregnant and provide him with a legacy. But there hadn't been a woman, in his estimation, who was capable of raising a child, his or anyone else's, to be anything other than another mindless member of society, stuck in the rut that they themselves lived in. Raised in the Narrows, schooled into conformity and mediocrity and eventually doomed to a pointless existence of mindless consumption and TV reality shows that he would rather not contribute towards. The very idea made him cringe.

But, then there was Claire.

It wasn't so much that he wanted to father a child. He had no interest in children or parenting or that great myth – the nuclear family. He had nothing to offer, other than his sperm, to such a venture. But he couldn't help but see her plan, his need to connect to her, and their chance reunion at just this time, as some sort of destiny. He did believe in destiny. That was something he counted on, in fact. And the way that destiny played out at times could appear chaotic and completely random, when, in fact, things were going just as they should. It was why planning was ill-advised most of the time. Chaos would take over because destiny would have its way.

He wanted to possess Claire, even if just for a while, until he could purge himself of this obsession that had resurrected itself. He didn't just want her to co-operate. He wanted her to be desperate to have him. Completely and utterly lost in her need for him, emotionally and physically. Her declaration last night convinced him that this was possible. Of course, she would need some coaxing, some convincing, but in the end, she would come to him eager and willing and ready to let him do anything. In fact, if he played his cards right, she would think it was completely her idea.

The point was, he was seeing an opportunity to help himself to a week or more of unprotected, full body sex, with her as an enthusiastic partner. It was a long shot, but if she got pregnant, she got what she wanted. It wouldn't be the end of the world for him because she was the one woman he wouldn't mind impregnating. He believed her when she said she would raise it outside the confines of the society he loathed. He knew she would make good on her plans to create an individual instead of a clone. It might actually be a life worth contributing to. And he could put that odd, niggling feeling about legacy out of his head and face death calm and ready when the time came. And there would be no expectation on her part for him to be anything other than a biological father. She had been completely clear about that. She wanted to do this alone. So, it would suit them both just fine. He could walk away purged of an adolescent fantasy and perhaps also that ego-driven impulse to procreate. Nice, neat, tidy. He liked when the dominos lined up like that.

So, for now, he would deny her his company. He would allow her sufficient time to think and to come to some conclusions on her own. She would be distressed at his disappearance, he was sure of it. The emotional bond had already been tied and now he was about to make his absence make her grow fonder and fonder until she would be so relieved to see him that she would be ready to do anything to please him. This was still his game.

* * *

He hadn't been to see her in two days. Each time the door opened, she wished he would appear, if even for a few minutes, but it was always Charlie or Midget. They said little, looking uncomfortable when she questioned them about him. They wouldn't say anything except that he was busy. She racked her brain for a reason for his distance. Was he angry? Was he upset? Did he still believe the insulting things she said before she finally admitted the truth? Did he hate her now? She was obsessed with knowing what he was thinking. She was eating less. Her appetite was failing her because her nerves were shot. She spent all day lying on the bed, just thinking. She wrote him a note for Charlie to give to him. It said:

_Please come to see me. We need to talk. I'm very sorry for whatever I did to make you stay away. Please, please, come. We can have a game. C._

But, he never responded and never appeared.

When Joker read her note, he giggled with delight, reading it over and over before folding it and placing it in his vest pocket. His tactic was working. She sounded nearly beside herself with the need to see him. One more day was necessary and then on Monday evening, he would go to her, ready to take care of her casted arm, to administer kindness and care. She would be like a neglected infant, finally picked up and cuddled into calm.

Claire spent most of Monday in deep contemplation about her future if the Joker did not relent and finally come and see her. He was still feeding her and Charlie and Midget always asked if there was anything else she needed to which she always replied "my freedom." Charlie had actually replied at one point and told her that if it was up to him, she would be released as it appeared that the Boss had lost interest in whatever plans he had for her. He didn't say it in a critical way. Just matter-of-factly and hearing this sentiment expressed out loud distressed her in many different ways. She was trying to understand why his lack of sometimes frightening attention had her upset. Jack kept coming to mind and when she was honest with herself, she had to admit, that the Joker could be good company when he wasn't brandishing weapons. His intelligence and humour helped to temper her fear, almost to the point at times where she felt that he could be a good companion.

They had some things in common, like their experience of Arkham and their outsider status in the world, and of course, their prior friendship. She had even gone so far in her abundance of time to consider the fact that if he was not who he was, with blood on his hands, he had all the attributes that she would want in a biological father for her much desired child. He was a fine physical specimen. His intelligence was off the charts. She knew this for a fact having seen his IQ score on his student records. He was brilliant at the game she loved and he would certainly be happy to leave her alone in her role as a parent.

It was true that he was probably a psychopath, but she had learned from her reading about her own psychological condition that psychopaths, while having a genetic pre-disposition, usually only came into being due to environmental factors. It wasn't something you passed along like eye colour or freckles. There had to be a perfect storm of sorts in the person's environmental experiences to spawn a psychopath. She would be in control of her child's environment. Based on her own neglectful and emotionally abusive upbringing, she certainly knew what _**not**_ to do. It made her wonder what sort of trauma Jack had experienced to transform him into the Joker. It made her heart heavy to think of him enduring even more than he had when she knew him. He was an exceptionally sensitive young man and she suspected that this had made him perhaps more susceptible to a mental break. She had already dedicated herself to the promise that if she was lucky enough to become pregnant, her child would be loved unconditionally and told from day one that they could do anything, be anything. A child needed that firm foundation to take on the world on their own terms. She wanted this child to grow up to be a critical thinker, an individual, full of confidence and curiosity.

But it was just a thought. She knew he would never co-operate with her plans and be a donor for her. He had made his opinion clear. The idea was beyond ridiculous when she really thought about it. But, deep down, she knew that she would never meet anyone remotely like him, with all those qualities wrapped into one, in any donor bank, anywhere. She would have to make do with her unknown medical student or engineer. She was leaning toward the medical student. Maybe her child would pursue a career in psychiatry and be someone who could take the practice beyond its current trend to slap a useless label, like sociopath, on anyone who did not choose to live within the very cramped borders of what was considered proper and sane in this very messed up society. Thinking of Jack again, and the Joker, she knew he wasn't crazy. She was sure of it. He was, as he had said, at war. Right or wrong, he felt that everything he did for his "cause" was justified. In a way, she envied his purpose and his focus. It gave his life meaning and structure. Something that was missing from hers. Her only passions were chess and her desire to have a child.

Her supper was late. It was getting dark outside and she set out the lava lamp to sooth her frayed nerves. Maybe this was the beginning of the end. Maybe he would just let her starve to death, locked in this room, alone and forgotten by all.

The familiar sound of the locks being released took her out of her thoughts for a moment where she sat in the armchair, blue-jeaned legs pulled up in a yoga pose, she was wearing a borrowed short sleeved pink sweater with a scoop neck that allowed her to fiddle with her pearl choker as she tended to do when she was thinking. Her hair was rather neglected, just down and flowing over her shoulders un-tethered. She waited to see which one he had sent this time. But, it was him.

She looked up when he appeared in the doorway. He was without his paint, but his hair was a healthy shade of joker green. It was loose around his face which was set in the most serious expression she had ever seen for him. He was dressed in a dark grey suit with pin-striped pants and a cardinal red vest, complete with Sonny Boy dangling and sparking against his hip. He carried a tray with a towel covering the contents. He moved into the room, using his familiar method of door closing – a backward kick. He eyed her carefully as he moved closer and set the tray on the bed as he went to get a chair.

"You look tired my Sweet." He said softly, full of concern. He pulled the straight back chair close to her arm chair and she lowered her stocking feet to the floor and sat up straighter, trying to figure out why she was so pleased to see him. She felt her stomach clench in a mild thrill that made her take a few deep breaths to calm herself. She was almost afraid to speak. Afraid she would say something wrong and make him go away again.

"Not speaking to me, hmmmm?" He moved his chair a little closer and leaned over to whisper in her ear, in a low, seductive tone. "I missed you. Didn't you miss meeee?"

She could smell his scent which was distinctly masculine; musk and leather mixed with something sugary. This was the closest she had been to the unpainted scars and she noted that they were quite prominent and marred his cheeks to no small degree. Especially the left one. It puckered and protruded much more than the right. But when you took in his eyes and the rest of his features, they won out over the obvious disfigurements. On the whole, he was most pleasing to the eye. And for some reason, the smaller scar that creased his full lower lip held a sort of intrigue for her. She stared at it as she thought how to answer him. He pulled back a little and settled into the chair, waiting.

"I thought I had angered you…." She began but then she frowned, clearly confused with how to express herself. "But you were going to kill me. You would have killed me. Why didn't you …."

"I _**was **_angry." He explained to her quietly. His tongue moved out over the small scar and she watched with fascination as he went on. "You said some very ah….nasty….things. I have a temper, as you have observed." He nodded at her, agreeing for them both.

But there was something else about that encounter that had bothered her greatly. It came back to her now, and she tried to find a way to address it with some delicacy. But she needed an answer. This had to be explained. He could see her struggling, looking to the side, narrowing her eyes and her expressive mouth working on words that needed to come out.

"Say it." He encouraged her with a hand on her knee. "Whatever it is. Just say it, Sweetheart."

"When you were holding me down on the bed, with the gun." She said finally, looking at him. He nodded, waiting for her to complete the thought. "You were …. I could feel…that you were….aroused." She swallowed hard as he cocked an eyebrow at her and a smile began to play at the ravaged corners of his mouth.

"Oh….thaaaaat." He grinned sheepishly now and sat back in his chair, taking delight in her obvious discomfort.

"You were aroused by the idea of killing me." She concluded and looked at him now and frowned. "It's not funny, Jack."

"Oh, ho, no." He giggled despite her seriousness and shook his head at her like she was being silly. "I wasn't aroused at the idea of killing you at all."

She shook her head and insisted. "I felt it."

"Oh, I'm sure you did." He admitted, giving her a shy little grin that made her squirm a little in her seat. "I was, as you say, in a certain state, when I grabbed you. But it wasn't because I was thinking of killing you."

Her questioning expression made him continue.

"I was turned on by your anger." He put his hands out in front of him to try and express how it happened. "All that rage. All that ….. that….._**passion**_. And it was directed at meee."

She watched him carefully to see if she could believe him. She wanted to believe him.

"It was the sheer degree of emotion and the excitement of not knowing what you were going to do about it that just _**got**_ to me. I can't help it. I'm a normal guy in that respect, Cumquat. I get turned on by beautiful women showing a passionate interest in me. Even if her main desire is to rip out my spleen." He watched for her reaction to the truth. "And I may as well admit right here and right now, Claire Bear, that I'm pretty much turned on all the time around you, Pumpkin. It's just like old times, ya know?"

She had to look away. She put her head down and fidgeted with the frayed edge of her cast. There was quiet for a moment as she took in what he said and despite all things logical, she felt that mild thrill again. She could feel the heat rushing to her face. She hadn't blushed for probably about a decade. It was her sexual response returning after all this time. She had stopped taking the anti-depressants weeks ago in preparation for a possible pregnancy. Now, without them to dampen her instincts, her libido was alive and well and ready to lead her astray. This was getting surreal. She had to change the subject. She glanced to the covered tray on the bed.

"What's that?"

He waited a second and then reached over and pulled off the towel. It was the familiar old beer tray laden with what looked like instruments of torture. Her eyes widened and she moved back in her chair in obvious alarm.

"Relax." He leaned over and pulled the tray and contents into his lap. "Did you forget that I was going to get rid of that cast today? Hmmm?" He took the small hand tools from the tray and placed them on the floor beside his chair and flipped the tray over, laying it on her lap. "Put that arm right there Cupcake. This won't take long. It'll be noisy but won't hurt a bit."

She knew by now that you didn't argue. And she was anxious to be rid of it. It was beginning to itch where she couldn't scratch and she wanted both her arms back. She wanted to be able to defend herself properly. She reminded herself of the reality of her situation. She put her right forearm out, palm facing down.

"No, turn it over." He instructed as he picked up what looked like a long thin saw blade.

"It's fine like that."

"No, it's not." He told her reasonably. "I need to work on the underside of your arm. It's flatter. I need the flattest part of your arm facing up. I've done this before. Trust me."

She pulled her casted arm off the tray and tucked it back into her left arm protectively. She shook her head stubbornly.

"Then leave it on. I don't care." She sulked and gave him a hard stare.

He was perplexed at her reaction. He tapped the tray hard with his finger and told her sternly.

"Arm. There. Now. Palm up." He stared back. "I can sit here all night if you want."

She knew he meant it. She sighed and placed her arm back as he instructed. He gave her a look that showed he was peeved. He went to work and slipped the saw blade, flat, under the cast at her wrist and moved it slowly up inside following its length with his fingers as he worked, trying to gauge where it was inside.

"Okay, now here's where it gets noisy and here's where I ask you to sit very, very still." He looked at her and she nodded, bracing herself. He picked up a small cordless electric saw with a tiny circular blade. Lowering it carefully, he turned it on and plaster dust began to fly as the sound drowned out any possible conversation. He expertly cut along the cast where the saw blade lay underneath protecting her from the cutting edge of the circular saw as it bit through the plaster. She closed her eyes to the dust and noise until she felt him reach the full length of the cast. The noise stopped as he shut off the saw. He put it down as he continued to hold her arm on the tray. He could feel some resistance as she was starting to pull it away.

"Stop it Claire!" He grasped the cast more firmly and frowned at her. "What is with you? I'm not done." She was getting more agitated as he put his long fingers from both hands into the split he had created with the saw and began to pull out to make it break open to release her arm. The moment it cracked and her arm was visible, she pulled it away and out of the cast. She tucked her right arm into the left hastily but it was too late. He had already seen what she had been trying to hide from him.

He placed the discarded cast on the floor and things were quiet for a moment. She didn't look at him. He raked a hand through his hair and took a breath before speaking.

"I saw them. I saw the scars, Claire. You don't need to hide." His voice was serious. The most serious she had heard him speak to her. She still couldn't look at him.

"It's okay."

Silence.

"It was Arkham? Did you do it in Arkham?"

She nodded but still didn't look up. She cradled her arm and bit her bottom lip hard.

"I was drugged up at the time." She explained quickly. "I hardly even remember. I was just trying to escape any way I could at the time. I wasn't thinking clearly. I just needed to be gone. I wanted to be gone."

"Let me see." He asked calmly, reaching out and gently moving her left arm aside and stretching the right one out on her lap for a good look. The scars were ugly. It looked as though she had gone at it with a nail or a lid from a tin can. And they had healed badly, raised and shiny, in the shape of a large ivory star, a testament to the nightmare she had lived at Arkham. He understood how it could be so bad that suicide would seem like a solution. He could feel her trembling and he let his fingers pass softly over the scars in a soothing motion as his other hand held hers lightly. She finally looked up at him and their eyes locked in a moment of recognition. He nodded and she relaxed a bit.

"It's usually covered by a wide silver bracelet." She said absently, almost apologetically.

"It's okay." He told her quietly and he traced the star shape with his finger softly. "I want you to make a list. I'm taking names…." She began to shake her head. "No, listen." He gripped her hand and looked at her with a determined glint in his eye. "Make a list. I'll be back there at some point and I'm sure some of the same bastards are still working there. It'll give me a little project. Something to keep me focused until I can escape again."

She pulled her arm away and sat back in her chair, putting some distance between them.

"No, I don't want anyone hurt. It was me. I was weak."

"There is nothing weak about you Sweetheart." He told her confidently. "I know what goes on there. I can imagine what they might do to someone like you. I'll turn that place into a smoking black hole. I'll make it a priority. I'll do it for you. Just for you."

He reached out again and grasped her hand. She looked at him and frowned, resisting.

"I have to test that arm. See if it's okay." He reassured her and she relaxed, letting him hold her hand and her elbow, stretching her arm out toward him gently. He moved the hand that was at the elbow down her forearm in a firm but careful grasping motion that tested the integrity of the underlying bones along the way. He watched her carefully for any sign of pain. She was calm and didn't react. He guided her hand down to her knee and let go.

"Okay now, raise the arm out again on your own. It'll be weak and it'll feel strange. Then move your wrist in circles, both directions and wiggle your fingers at me."

She followed instructions. He nodded his approval. "It's fine. Just baby it a little for the next twenty-four hours or so."

"Yes, doctor." She gave him a smirk and rubbed her freed limb softly, appreciatively, with her left hand. "Thank you."

"Speaking of doctors." Joker couldn't let the neat little segue way go by. "That medical student of yours. The one in the thermos. Is he any good at chess?"

Claire considered it for a moment. "It's not on the questionnaire."

"Oh." He answered simply like it was of no consequence. He waited.

"Why?" She sat up a little straighter watching him carefully. "Why did you ask that?"

"No reason." He started to clear the tools away, stowing them back on the tray and covering them as before. He put the tray on the bed again. He avoided eye contact. He waited.

"Of course, that would be ideal." She thought out loud. "A paternal and a maternal predisposition to the characteristics needed for a good chess player. The child would most likely be a prodigy. With my tutoring….."

"A prodigy." He echoed her thought. "Isn't that what they used to call me?"

"Yes." She looked at him carefully, wondering if she should dare to ask the next question.

"Of course, what good is a chess prodigy if they're a psychopath, right?" He gave a little giggle like it was a very silly thought. Again, he waited, crossing one long leg over the other, letting one foot dangle casually.

"Psychopathology is not strictly inherited." She said quickly. "It's environment mainly."

"Really." He said seriously, like it was news to him.

"Jack."

"What, Sweetie?"

"This is beyond crazy, but…."

"What?"

"Would you even consider being a donor for me?" Her cautious tone struck him funny and it was all he could do to maintain control.

He put his hand up to his forehead and rubbed hard like he was thinking, using the gesture to hide his stifled mirth. Now _**she**_ waited.

"Well, you know I couldn't be anything but a donor, right? I mean, you'd be on your own, completely. I have nothing to offer a child. I'm the most selfish human being you're ever going to meet. I live my life for me, about me and in the sole interest of, guess who…._**me**_! There's no room for anyone else."

"That's honest and it's perfectly fine." She said excitedly. "That's more than fine."

"Okay, with that in mind, I have a question for you. Have you got back-up?"

"Back-up?"

"There's that echo again." He looked around, she rolled her eyes at his recurrent little joke, and then he explained. "If something should happen to you. Who would look after the little one? Me. Selfish. Remember? I'm not even in the picture. Have you thought about who would step in and raise your little bundle?" In the back of his mind, he already knew that if a child came into being, Claire would have plenty of money to raise it. After his basic expenses, like ammo, explosives and the payroll, he had more money than he literally knew what to do with, squirreled away all over Gotham. It would be his pleasure to share as he had very little need of anything material, anyway. But, he felt it was wise to keep that little morsel out of the discussion for now. He had to know she would go through with this without money to taint her decision. If she knew, it would be like paying her for sex which would demean her and himself. People lost their compass when money came into the equation. Better to leave it out.

"Ham has already agreed to be official guardian should anything happen and Doris as well. See, I have thought of everything." She was so excited, he almost wished he could make this happen for her. She went on to explain what came next. "I even have a self-insemination kit at home. I had it in case Ham decided to do it for me." She sat forward in the chair now, her enthusiasm brimming. "There is a little bit of paperwork but not a lot of red tape. I can get the stuff together in time…."

"Wait." He uncrossed his legs, lifted his chair to pull it closer to hers, and then leaned forward and took her hands in his gently. He looked at her calmly. She was quiet and expectant.

"Claire, you're a very bright woman. Now I want you to think for a moment. Listen and think. Okay?"

She nodded. His fingers were stroking hers in a very soothing manner.

"Alright then." His tongue moved out to trace his lips as he laid it out for her. "What's better, hmmm? Taking semen and exposing it to the air, at different temperatures, and moving it through possibly contaminated vessels and tubes and hoping, just hoping, mind you, that you deposit it in just the right spot, at just the right time, to get that little miracle to happen. Or…" He paused and leaned in even closer now, letting his right hand move up to brush long strokes against her still sensitive right forearm. "Or, delivering the goods directly to the front door, as nature intended, large quantities, all warm and safe, each and every day until your fertile period is over – that's the day after you ovulate, right?" She nodded, frowning as her thoughts flashed across her face and he went on. "I only have this month. I'll only give it this month. I don't need any insemination kit. I already have one. It's called a _penis_."

She was silent and stared at him. He tried to simplify the idea for her. "It's like it's January and you're baking a cake. You run out of sugar. Do you get in the car, in the middle of a blizzard, drive fourteen blocks to the store to buy more? Or do you just walk to the apartment next door and borrow a cup?"

She was still looking vaguely shocked.

"Yeah, that's right, baby. I'm the apartment next door. Borrow away. I won't even ask you to return it." He sat back, satisfied that he had made the point sufficiently for her to grasp what came next. He waited.

She was clearly at a loss for words.

"Okay." He sighed heavily like he was so very tired. "Real simple. I really need to fuck you Claire. I mean, I _**really **_need to. Let's make a deal. It could be a win/win situation. And you know I'm right. Doing this the natural way ups your odds considerably."

She was rubbing her midriff like she had developed a stomach ache. She was staring into space, lost in thought.

"I'm going to go away and let you think." He stood up and picked up the tray. "I'll be back in about an hour with some supper. I'll need your answer then. I know it's sudden but it's how I do things. I kinda live my life on fast forward cause it can go quick-k you know?" He watched her for a moment. "You okay?"

She nodded that she was and moved back into the armchair, pulling her legs up again in the yoga pose she favoured. She ran her hands up and down her bare arms like she was chilly. She didn't look at him.

"Later then?" He moved toward the door.

She nodded again and looked over at him, finally, as though she was just noticing him for the first time. He put his hand on the knob and she spoke.

"You will come back, won't you?" She sounded worried and tired.

"Of course." He looked over his shoulder. He noticed again for the millionth time how lovely she was and realized how true his statement about needing to have her really was. He could not accept that they might never finish what they had started so long ago.


	12. Chapter 12 How To Tame A Mountain Lion

The Endgame

Chapter Twelve

How to Tame a Mountain Lion

He gave her an hour on her own while he mentally prepared himself for either outcome. If she agreed to his plan, then what happened next was clear. But, if she turned him down. Now, that was the real problem. What would come next? He knew of two quick solutions. One was to just let her go home and try to get back to his own life – try to ignore the obsession that had taken over most of his waking hours and almost all of his common sense. Or, kill her. He couldn't obsess about a dead woman. Since he was not into necrophilia, he couldn't go on wanting what he couldn't have. But, in this case, something foreign, something uncomfortable, tainted the usual resignation and calm disregard he could usually bring to ending another person's life. He chalked it up to memories of vague emotions that still bedeviled him at times when it came to this strange, enigmatic woman. Part of him regretted stopping that day on the way to the Armory to pick her up. If he had just kept going, events would not have taken this turn. He regretted very little in his life so, again, this was something new. She really was more trouble than she was worth but since he couldn't just deny the very real need to possess her that had been rekindled, he had to deal with it. He couldn't just reason it away. Not that he hadn't tried.

He was certain that he had sensed that his fascination with her was not one-sided but he also knew that she would fight her attraction to him, just as she had before. But for a different reason. It wasn't his age this time, it was the Joker and all that he represented. It was really a test of what she wanted most. Did she want to explore that attraction, satisfy her curiosity, and perhaps emerge from the experience pregnant with a child of desired genetic makeup or did she want to play it safe and continue to negotiate for release back to her former life, still without child and perhaps always wondering what it might have been like to follow her desire and give herself to him? She had poor impulse control. That much was clear. So, which impulse would win?

Sitting in the kitchen at the table, he put a hand on each side of his head and pressed in as hard as he could. Maybe he could squeeze her out of his mind along with the thought that maybe he owed her a little respect and a little payback for all the misery she had endured because of her prior relationship to him. He had been so persistent in his pursuit of her, and that day, thirteen years ago, when she let her guard down, and he played on her sympathy to get her to give him just a taste of what it would be like to be lovers, he never gave a thought to what legal implications might come to bear on her if they were caught. He was too busy trying to satisfy his lust, his absolutely crazed desire to fuck her.

He could still feel her hot breath against his neck as she pleaded with him to calm down, please stop, no, it's wrong, Jack, it's wrong. But her legs were wrapped around his hips as she sat atop the desk and he thrust against her, drunken with pleasure and fixated on release. Her words told him no but her body gave him what he wanted – and what she wanted. They were fully clothed, but he remembered how her back arched into the embrace and the soft kisses against his jaw before she began to try and talk him down. He had pleaded with her to take him to her apartment so they could do it properly. He told her he knew what to do. If she had listened, if she had agreed, he could have stopped for that. They would have gone back to her place and they could have had what they both so desperately needed. By the time Lauren came into the classroom looking for him, they would have been gone. They never would have been discovered. So, it was as much her fault, he decided. He didn't owe her a damn thing.

He reached behind him, slipping his fingers into the slit in the inside lining of the back of his vest and pulled out Cupid. He pushed the release and watched the blade stand up at attention, ready to do his bidding. If he did end her life, it would be this way. Let Cupid put an end to this ridiculous notion of love. It was poetic.

* * *

Upstairs, Claire paced up and down the worn floorboards as she turned it all over in her tired mind. She was somewhat doubtful about her sanity the last few days. But, she wasn't so far gone that she didn't realize that this was exactly the state of mind he had engineered for her with all the tactics and manipulation that he could muster. He was diabolical. A force to be reckoned with. A master schemer who sells chaos. How sick was that? Or was it? The world was a puzzle to her. Anything considered good and decent and prudent had never worked out for her. What was decent? What was fair? Who was right and who was wrong? All the arguments he gave her against an anonymous donor were completely sound. Her carefully structured plan didn't make sense anymore. She doubted she could go through with that now. And what he offered her now, his contribution to a possible pregnancy actually made sense. He was not a stranger to her. She knew him. She knew what he was before and what he was capable of being if the Joker had not come to claim him. She could have all the good stuff he was made of, for this month, to possibly become pregnant with a child like that. Like him. Like Jack. Delivered to her by the Joker. That was the conundrum. That, and the fact that she was still his prisoner. This was still a very uneven playing field. He had all the good pieces – the board was his.

She sat on the edge of the bed and noticed the stains on the worn, wooden planks from the wine that was spilled in their altercation several days ago. She was sure that he intended to kill her but he didn't. He could have raped her by now but he hadn't. There was still a flicker of humanity left that she could appeal to. Was there still enough of Jack left that she could go to him, woman to man, and leave the Joker behind? Even with all that had happened, she could admit to herself that there was an attraction to Jack as he was then and as he was now. The essence of who he was had not changed that substantially and everything that drew her in when he was an adolescent had the same effect on her now. His quick mind, his passionate expression of ideas, and his natural charisma. And she felt herself awakened to the sensuality and allure of his lithe, masculine physicality.

Common sense told her that if she opened herself up to this idea of his, if she went through with it, it was possibly the most morally reprehensible thing she could ever do. Give herself to a murdering psychopath for nothing more than his sexual gratification. But her natural gift for cold rationalization allowed her to recognize that spreading her legs for Dr. Jenson, to be artificially impregnated with the semen of a stranger who may or may not be, morally superior to the Joker, and who would most probably be genetically inferior, was no less demeaning. It made no real sense, common or otherwise.

* * *

He undid the locks, carefully opening the door and balancing the promised supper on a tray. He was surprised to see her setting up the chess board, dressed in a soft green, long-sleeved dress, dark hair in a casual up do and make-up fresh. She watched him close the door and set the food on the table by the armchair where they usually took their meals together. He had tidied himself up a little as well, face still bare of any sign of the Joker. He had tethered his longish hair in a neat little tail, aside from the kinky, unruly strands that always fell around his face, and traded his more formal suit for the comfort of his brown corduroy. He sat down and uncorked the wine as she walked over and lowered herself into the comfort of the armchair across from him. They waited a few moments and then both looked up at the same time to make eye contact.

"Just something light tonight." He removed the lid from a bowl of ravioli and began spooning some onto her plate. "Wine?"

She nodded. And then watched him carefully as he poured. This is Jack, she kept saying to herself. This man is still Jack. He filled his own glass and picked it up, holding it out as though to toast. He waited. She hesitated, afraid of what this was about, but followed suit, holding her glass to his. She looked at him, questioning.

"I would like to make a toast to you, Claire, a mysterious, beautiful, gifted woman who will always be someone special to me, no matter what you decide our future should be."

It took her by surprise. It sounded so heartfelt. She touched her glass to his with a small tink sound that made them both smile. He put his glass down after a small sip and reached across the table to grasp her hand in both of his. He held her gaze as she enjoyed the wine.

"And your answer?" He didn't waste time.

"I have a statement, first." She put her wine down and placed her other hand on top of his gently.

His eyes narrowed a little as he licked his lips and nodded for her to continue.

"I can't come to you the way you want if I'm your prisoner." She said as calmly as she could manage, given the fear of his reaction to an actual demand.

His gaze shifted away from her and he studied the lava lamp for a few moments as it pumped away relentlessly, performing the useless glub, glub, glub of molten wax eggs around and around in its little bottle. Stuck in a pattern of production that made no sense but was, at the same time, hypnotizing. He shook his head in that curious way to reset, leaned forward toward her and turned her hands over his as though he was going to tell her fortune.

"Look, there's a problem, Sweetums. Let me explain." He looked at her and she acknowledged her attention. "I _**can**_ give you your freedom but you can't leave until we're done. If you do get pregnant, no-one, and I mean not a _**living soul**_, can know I am the father. The child, and you, would never be safe from attempts to get to me – to get _**back **_at me. I can't just let you go home and then begin showing up at your apartment every night to accomplish what we're doing. It's just really difficult for a guy like me to go out there and blend in. I'm never sure if I'm being followed and there's just too much risk that someone would start associating you with me and eventually me with the possible outcome – the pregnancy. Since you are already here, it makes more sense to just keep our activity here, private, out of sight. I can unlock the door but you have to stay here until we're done our, ah, our little project. After we're done, I promise you'll go back to your life, back to your apartment, back to your work."

She knew he was right. She had already thought about the fact that paternity would have to be a secret forever. If she did get pregnant, they had to be careful about anyone putting them together around the time of conception. She took the thought to another conclusion. "And I'll never see you again?" She didn't realize how sad she sounded, but he caught it and looked at her in a curious way.

"Well, to be honest, after a time, I'd want to see you again. The chess, you know?"

She nodded quickly, agreeing.

"And if you do get pregnant, I'll admit, I'd have to satisfy my curiosity. I would want to see what we produced. But only after sufficient time goes by and with complete secrecy. I can't stress enough how careful we would have to be with any contact."

She nodded again.

"Do you understand?" He couldn't quite believe that she was, quite possibly, going to go along with this.

"I do, yes. But…" She looked at their hands entwined on the table. "I want you to prove that I'm not your prisoner." His hands withdrew and she signed heavily, waiting for his rant.

"How?" He said reasonably, taking her by surprise.

"By letting me walk out of here, now."

He frowned at the idea and began to shake his head, so she added hastily. "I'll come back. But, you have to allow me to leave, even for just a few minutes, and not come after me. Trust me to come back." She leveled her most serious look at him.

"Trust you?"

"It's the only way that I'll know that I am no longer your prisoner." She said firmly, knowing full well that she really had no pieces in this game. The next move was his completely and she would have to accept it, no matter what. Still, she waited, hoping.

He stared at her and sucked at the inside of his cheek, hard, thinking, thinking, very hard. He took a deep breath and sighed as though in defeat.

"The door is unlocked." He told her and grabbed his glass of wine.

She looked at him, uncertain. Did he really mean…..?

"It's open." He repeated, seeing her hesitation. "But…..you're in the Narrows. I wouldn't go too far." He warned her, taking a sip of wine and putting his feet up on the bed like he was going to relax while she conducted her little experiment.

She got up quickly and walked to the door, hesitating just for a second, watching him to see if he would get up. He started to hum a little tune like his mind was miles away. She opened the heavy door and stepped out into the hallway, closing it behind her. She got a good look, for the first time at the collection of locks and chains on the outside of the door. She walked to the staircase and began her descent. The old tenement was dark and creepy at this time of night with few lights on and an abandoned feel to the high ceilings and neglected walls and woodwork. She held the ancient worn railing as she made her way down to the main floor, into a kitchen that still smelled of the food they were enjoying. There was a small light on over the large, vintage stove and she noticed all the cooking paraphernalia and clear jars of different dried pastas and spices that lined the counter top. Someone was certainly serious about their meals. She noticed a box on the kitchen table and took a peak on the way past. It was the wonderful red wine they had been enjoying since she got here. A whole box of about a dozen bottles. He was certainly well stocked.

Then she noticed the back door. She looked through the kitchen window and saw a courtyard. She had been listening for any sign that he was following her but there was nothing. She opened the door and took a step outside into the damp, cool, autumn night. She guessed she was at the back of the building and all she had to do was go around the corner and she could hail a cab and be gone or accost a police officer. Sirens went off a few miles away and she looked out at the city scape. It was, indeed, the Narrows. Arkham was probably only blocks away by her estimation. The dirty, mildewed, damp atmosphere was like no other place. It was like a separate world from the rest of Gotham. Wedged between the sparkling, well-heeled Pallisades and the rest of Gotham beyond Battery Tunnel, the Narrows was like a separate planet, a lost, dangerous, hopeless place.

She walked for a distance, rounded the corner of the building and looked out toward Gotham proper. There, high in the sky, somewhere around the clock tower she guessed, against the burgeoning nighttime clouds, she saw the yellow oval of the bat signal, calling on Gotham's Dark Knight, to attend to some criminal activity in the restless city. The sirens continued to wail and were joined by more, and then another started up a few blocks away. She shivered at the cold and the place.

Back at the tenement, the Joker was sitting at the chess board now, his restless right leg bouncing furiously as he tried to get his mind off what was happening. He played a game of speed chess against himself, turning the board for each move, trying to not favour the black or the white. He heard the sirens, knew she was out there on the street somewhere. She had left her handbag but that didn't mean anything. There was nothing in it that wasn't replaceable. Compared to the prospect of her freedom, it was a very small consideration. He wondered if she would return to the apartment. Probably not. She would know it was too easy for him to just take her again. Damn, he should have had Charlie find her passport. She could leave the country, never mind the city. In an effort to distract himself, he turned his thoughts to the Armory job planned for later in the week. He went over the locations of all the explosives and mentally wired the detonator in his imagination, seeing the connections, going over the timing. He calculated the amount of ammonium nitrate required, the containers, the space needed in the truck for all the equipment, weaponry and ammo he was going to take from the storage area. He thought he heard footsteps. His leg stopped bouncing and he cocked his head toward the partly open door, hardly breathing as he tried to listen.

The door opened a little further and there she stood. Her face was flushed from the outdoor briskness. He didn't say a word. He turned back to the board like he was enthralled in the game he was playing against himself. She approached and took a seat behind the white pieces, sitting on the side of the bed, as usual. She watched him quietly for a few minutes while he turned the board and played with lightning speed, finally ending it with the black bishop and rook cornering the white king in a hopeless check mate.

"The bat signal is up." Claire said in a conversational way as she picked up the discarded pieces at the side of the board and began to set it up for a new game.

"The Bat's busy these days with some Arkham alumni and the mob. But never mind him. What about us? Do you trust me? Do we go ahead with it?" He asked, finally looking at her, noticing how she was still favouring her previously injured arm.

"When do you want to start?" She asked quietly, not making eye contact.

"About thirteen years ago."

"Seriously." She looked very nervous and tired.

He wanted her now. This minute. But, he also wanted her rested with no distractions. It was clear that her right arm, just released from plaster was tender and weak. He had come so far. She trusted him. Give her even more reason to think that he had her best interest at heart. As long as he got something…just a little contact.

"Well, I would say now, but I can see that arm is bothering you. Tomorrow you can rest, take your time getting used to the idea. So….tomorrow night."

"So soon?" She looked startled. "I'm sure I'm not fertile for at least…."

"Call it practice." He cut her off flatly, in a tone that indicated he wasn't about to negotiate any longer than that. "Claire, I'm trying to be patient but you have to understand that I'm not used to waiting for anything I want. And I want you badly. And who knows, you could ovulate early and we don't want to miss any opportunity now do we?"

"No, but I wish it wasn't so arbitrary. I mean we haven't had any time to…."

"Never had a one night stand, hmmmm?"

"No. Never." She looked a little shocked and he started to giggle, low in his chest.

"What's so funny?" She wanted to know, frowning.

"You are." He couldn't stop chuckling and she shot him an aggravated look.

"Why? Because I have some morals?"

"Oh, please…." He continued to laugh and held up a hand to her like he wanted her to stop.

"Because I want something more than just a fuck?" She used the word awkwardly but wanting to make the point in a way he would appreciate.

"Gary was just a fuck, tell the truth. You might have married him on paper, but you didn't love him. You admitted you just wanted a baby. And it's pretty clear why he was doing you, being he was quite certain he was shooting blanks the whole time. How is that any different than what we're going to do?" He challenged her now, laughter quieted.

"That's a terrible thing to say."

"And? What's your point?"

"Why do you have to reduce everything to the lowest common denominator?"

"I don't know. You're the one who's good at Math, you figure it out." He crossed his arms like a petulant child and stared at her.

"Well, you're in a pissy mood." She shot back and crossed her own arms, looking disgruntled.

They were quiet for a moment and then he sighed put his hands on his knees and leaned forward a little, trying to make eye contact. He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her and she looked away.

"I think…." He chuckled a little but went on . "I think we're having our first fight."

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Our _**first**_? Oh, so when you forcibly kidnapped me, threw me in the bathtub, bounced my head off the bedroom floor, stuck that bloody knife in my face, and put a gun to my head – that was us – _**getting along**_?"

"Claire?"

"What!"

"I'm glad you came back."

The honesty of the statement threw her off centre. She forgot the gist of the argument they were having. She tried to understand if she was angry or not. He grinned at her in a cheeky, teasing way.

He pushed back his chair and got up. He reached down to where she sat on the bed and grasped her left hand, making her get up. He led her over to the armchair and he sat down, shifting to get comfortable. She stood there, looking down at him, bewildered.

"What? What're we doing now?" She wanted to know as he smiled up at her.

He patted his knee. "Com'ere."

"I'm not sure…." She was cut off as he simply pulled her down into his lap, wrapping his long arms around her easily, comfortable in the casual contact. They were nose to nose. In his embrace, she could feel that while he was slightly built, every ounce of him was sinew and muscle. She could feel the taut wiry arms holding her loosely and the firm athletic thighs beneath her. She pressed a hand against his chest in reflex and felt the solid warmth of him up close. He let his right hand move up into her hair and he spidered his fingers through the loose updo giving it a shake, sending clips flying out loose onto the floor. Her dark waves tumbled down around her shoulders.

"That's better." He declared softly as he moved his nose into the abundance of her wavy dark hair and took a deep breath. "Let's get to know each other a little then, okay? So, it won't seem so, ah, what was the word…._arbitrary_….tomorrow."

"You don't have to." She wasn't so sure now. There was something sudden about all of this. And her body was getting ahead of her. She was alarmed at how aroused she was getting, with just this much contact. The way he took charge only added to the attraction she was desperately trying to keep at bay.

"But I want to." He insisted. "Now, listen. Big question. Please be honest, okay?" He looked at her in earnest and she nodded.

"These." He gestured to his scars. "Do they bother you much? Be honest now. It's important."

"No."

"Truth?"

"Truth." She studied his face closely for a second. "The only thing that bothers me about them is that you had to endure whatever caused them. Honest."

"Ah, that's sweet." He smiled at her. "So, you do like me a little, now don't cha?"

She nodded to the affirmative, head down as though it was something she should be deeply ashamed of. She could not look at him.

"Okay, if they don't bother you too much then ……" He moved his hand to her face and stroked her cheekbone lightly. "I want you to kiss me."

"I can't."

He gave a long, exasperated sigh. "Why not?"

"Believe it or not, I still feel like this is wrong. I'm still older than you."

"Are you serious?" He blinked at her.

She nodded. "This feels wrong. If I kiss you, come on to you, it's like I'm an old mountain lion or something….."

He frowned, confused. "Mountain lion……what? Cougar? Do you mean, _**cougar**_?"

"Oh, right. Cougar."

She watched him lose his composure completely, laughing so hard his eyes teared up and he could hardly breathe in between whoops that, despite her resolve to treat this whole thing in as dignified a manner as possible, made her smile. Still in his lap, she rode out the mirth with him as his body rocked with it until he finally calmed down somewhat, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Oh God, you're a riot. You're so adorable it hurts. A cougar? Listen, Cupcake, if experience equals age, I'm the one robbing the cradle here. It's becoming real clear that you haven't gotten out much." He giggled again and bit his lip to stop when she gave him a warning look.

She decided to get this over with. Before he could prepare, she slipped both arms up onto his shoulders and bent her head in to capture his mouth with hers in a chaste, even if slightly prolonged, meeting of the lips. His eyes were still closed when she moved away. She waited, rather pleased with herself, for his verdict.

"Well……" He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. "That was……nice….. if you were my Aunt Helen."

"Do you even have an Aunt Helen?"

"No, just saying…"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. You may as well know. You already guessed. I haven't done this a lot aside from my useless marriage. And Gary wasn't home a lot so there hasn't been a lot of traffic on the drawbridge, so to speak."

"….so to speak. Did I tell ya before? Love the way you talk." He moved a hand down to travel up her thigh and take a firm hold on her bottom giving it an appreciative squeeze. She jumped a little at the directness and frowned at him. He just grinned and purred in her ear. "Love that ass." He put a fingertip on her nose. "It's okay. Tomorrow, we'll just get you drunk and loosen you up a little. I'll show you what you've been missing, Toots. It's time for the teacher to be taught a little something….hmmmm?" He raised his eyebrows at her and nodded. She felt pleasant fluttering in her stomach and lower. When she took in his scent, the feel of him so close, the incredible heat he gave off and the wonderful way his body relaxed into anything he did, she felt tingling and moisture where she hadn't for so long. She resolved to forget the age thing. It was stupid. He was right. He was much older than her in this regard.

"You will show a little restraint, won't you?" She allowed her left hand to wander back up to his shoulder where she captured a tendril of his grassy locks and stroked it between her fingers. He smiled at the gesture. "I mean, at least until I get up to speed? What I'm trying to say…"

"Oh, don't worry." He got fake serious and assured her. "I know that ladies your age gotta be careful. I'll go easy. We don't want you to break a hip or anything."

She pulled on the lock of hair until he winced in pain, catching her wrist tightly and holding it, giving her a playful, warning look.

"I've done yoga every day for the last twenty years and there is nothing wrong with my hips." She told him and made a move like she was leaving his lap.

"I'm kidding. Just kidding." He held her firmly where she was and she settled once again, nose to nose.

"Well, don't kid so much."

"Why not? Humour, laughter, it gets the blood moving. Just like sex gets the blood moving. It makes the serotonin and the endorphins flow nicely. It's a drug rush. That's all any of this is. Drugs and the effects. It's why I like sex so much. Why I need it so much. It calms me. If not for regular sex, I'd be a whole lot more violent than I actually am. So don't knock it. It's all good. All so very good…." His eyes were darkening as he spoke and she sensed his own arousal building. She was both frightened and thrilled at the realization.

Their eyes searched each other's for a few seconds and then he brought his mouth to hers in a delicate, lingering kiss that made both of them shiver. He backed off only a fraction of an inch and they opened their eyes and looked at each other in wonder. He renewed the kiss but this time his arm went around her more tightly to draw her in closer as his tongue gently teased her mouth open for some exploration. He sighed into the kiss, his mouth wantonly performing oral intercourse with hers with the most delicious soft moans vibrating through him and into her. She allowed him to plunder her mouth and her tongue finally had the opportunity to trace softly against the small scar on his bottom lip. She concentrated on the tiny ridges of raised flesh that bisected that otherwise perfect lip until something in her unwound and she shocked herself as her teeth took a gentle nibble at it. She felt his mouth purse into a smile against hers in reaction.

"Oh, there's that mountain lion coming out." He made a low, growly sound and she started to laugh.

He brought one hand up and cradled her left breast through the green fabric of her dress, giving it a soft squeeze as his lips brushed the swell of it at her neckline.

"You're bustier than you used to be. I like it. That is all you, isn't it?"

She put her hand over his but didn't push him away. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. "Of course, who else would it be?"

"Monsanto, Dow Corning? You know, surgically enhanced?"

"No, just me." She assured him. "I just filled out I guess."

"All natural, hmmmm? I can't wait to play with those." He purred in his deep baritone as he continued to knead her breast and his mouth moved up to her neck just below her ear where he laid soft kisses and let his tongue taste her. Her hand left his to burrow into his hair, cradling his head against her as she closed her eyes to the thrill of the intimacy.

"Your bed or mine?" He asked, moving his hand downward now, along the curve of her hip where he continued to stroke and appreciate her form.

"What?"

"Tomorrow, I mean. You want to do it here or downstairs in my room?"

It was a sign to her that he really did mean she was no longer a prisoner. Offering her the freedom of choice. She turned her head and kissed his forehead softly.

"Here. It feels like my turf now. I would be more comfortable here." She looked at him and smiled at the pleasure he registered from her kiss.

"It's a date, Sugar Plum. Oh, and wear some of that great lingerie I saw Charlie bring from your place. Something red would be very good."

She nodded at his suggestion. She put both arms around his neck and snuggled in to give him a kiss on the nose. She wondered how to bring this up. One other thing that had to happen to make this whole thing feel acceptable to her.

"Jack, can I ask a favour?" She brushed her lips against his forehead again and he sighed contentedly.

"What do you want. You women are all the same. You get a guy hard and then you ask for something. Like I can say no, right?"

She shivered at his declaration of his current condition but kept on with her question.

"Could you please, while you're with me, for that period of time, not be doing it with anyone else?" She pulled back and looked at him seriously. "I mean, it would just be nice to know I'm the only one you're having. Otherwise, it's kind of …" She searched for a word.

"Icky?" He wrinkled his nose at her in a comical way.

"Right."

He gave her a slightly miffed look but smiled and heaved a sigh of resignation.

"Okay. I guess I can be a one woman man for a week and a half. To be honest, I can't see me be interested in anyone else as long as I've got free access to all of this." He gripped her bottom again, this time with both hands on both sides. "_**And**_ having it bare back." He nuzzled her nose with his. "We're going to be busy little bunnies." He cooed and she felt a deep thrill hit her in the solar plexus.

"Thank you."

"Oh, don't mention it. It's no sacrifice really. It's like asking a guy to give up beer and baloney sandwiches and survive on champagne and caviar."

It was an awkward compliment but it charmed her just the same.


	13. Chapter 13 Moonlighting

The Endgame

Chapter Thirteen

Moonlighting

"Charlie, give me the cell." It was more of an order than a request from the Joker as Midget prepared a breakfast tray for the Boss to deliver to their guest on Tuesday morning.

Charlie put down his toast to fish the phone out of his camo jacket. He handed it to the Joker without further questions.

"I'll bring it right back." Joker assured the henchman who didn't seem concerned in the least. He was more interested in whether Midget was making fresh coffee. The first pot was already gone.

"Oh, wait." Midget called out to the Joker as he was turning to leave the kitchen to deliver the tray upstairs. "She likes blueberry jam with her English muffin." He placed a small dish full on the tray, smiling. Joker eyed him suspiciously.

"Well, we've been doing this the last few days and she is fond of the blueberry jam, right Charlie?" Midget looked for vindication.

"It's a fact." Charlie replied shortly, getting up to check the coffee pot. "Midget, where's the damn coffee? Endless pot, remember?"

"Make your own damn coffee." Midget snarled, tired of feeling like a nagged housewife.

"That's _**your **_job. Do your fucking job." Charlie was in a foul mood, up all night with Cha Cha blathering about the Boss and coming up with crazy ass ideas of how she was going to finally get to spend some time with the Joker. She kept saying she found him fascinating, like she was a regular Barbara Walters and wanted to interview him for a prime time special. Charlie knew exactly what she was up to. Her obsession was turning into a project and she was determined to get up close and very personal with the Boss. Like the crazy clown had a magical cock or something. It would serve her little Latina ass right if the Boss used her for his amusement and then killed her for being an unfaithful little whore, which it was rumoured, he had done on occasion.

Women were trouble. All of them. Even that raven haired little crumpet upstairs. She was more trouble than most as far as he could see. The boss hadn't been himself since she showed up. And he was losing focus. That could get them all killed.

"Fuck you, Charlie."

"Fuck you, Midget."

The breakfast tray sailed through the air barely missing both of them as it made its way between them before it hit the tiled wall scattering food and utensils and spraying scalding hot black coffee and blueberry jam everywhere. The two startled henchmen looked over at the Joker who was leaning in the doorway, looking very, very pissed.

"You two idiots are getting on my nerves. If you're going to fight, then fight like men, god dammit. Take out a gun or a knife and be done with it. Stop whining like two little girls and grow some balls for Chrissake."

"Sorry, Boss." Midget groveled and turned back to the stove. "I'll put another tray together. Now we _**really**_ need fresh coffee." He tossed Charlie a peeved look.

"I'll be back in twenty – have it ready." The Joker delivered one final sneer at the two and then disappeared from the doorway.

When he reached her room, he gave a gentle knock to announce his entry as the door was unlocked since she had negotiated her freedom. He could hear her call softly to come in. She didn't look up right away as she sorted through a pile of clothes on the bed when he made his entrance. She looked relaxed and calm until she looked up and took in the full war paint. She was once again in the presence of the Joker. She stood up straight and took a few steps back, the wariness registering in a frown.

"It's you."

"It always _**has**_ been." He reminded her in a calm tone as he approached slowly. "Don't delude yourself, pretty thing. You're too smart for that."

"I know. It's just that I've gotten used to seeing you without all that."

"This is who I am except in private, with you." He picked up some of the clothing that was scattered all over the bed. "What are you doing, my soon-to-be, ah…..friend with benefits?"

She just kept staring at him for a moment and then his question registered. "Just tidying. Making this place a little more homey as long as I'm, you know, staying for a little while."

"Good. Good." He wished she wouldn't look at him like that. She was close to cowering. He had the impression that if he approached her for any sort of contact, she would retreat. And he really wanted some contact right now. Last night, with her on his lap, being so warm and affectionate made him hungry for more. He only had hours to wait until he could have all of her but, somehow, it wasn't enough. "We can have supper together tonight, take our time. Get in a few games before we get down to ah, business. You nervous?"

"Yes." She admitted, rubbing her right arm with her left.

"That arm okay?"

"It will be."

There was a moment of silence as she searched his face, looking apprehensive.

He decided against pushing for more from her at this point. He was so close to getting what he needed.

"Breakfast will be a little late. Meanwhile…." He pulled the cell out of his pocket and handed it to her. "I hate these things because they're like carrying a homing beacon. Charlie replaces it every few days to cut down on the possibility of it being tracked but I still don't like them. But, right now, it's necessary. I want you to call Doris and Ham and come up with some explanation for the next 10 days or so. I'm assuming you and Hambone are in frequent contact? Email? Phone calls?" She nodded, briefly wondering how Charlie managed to get a different cell every few days. Chances are, they were stolen. Or worse, taken forcibly. The Joker continued with his thought. "He'll be wondering where his little friend got to. And Doris will want an update, I'm sure." She nodded again and took the phone from him by bending at the waist and reaching out to take it, making sure she didn't get any closer to him than was necessary. He sighed, expressing his exasperation.

"Claire. It's me. This is the same guy who was feeling your ass last night."

She stared at the white pancaked face, the brown eyes lost in their sooty black orbits and the blood red slash covering his mouth and extending up either scarred cheek.

"No you're not."

* * *

The rest of the day for the Joker went quickly with a lunch time visit to Claire who wasn't any more comfortable seeing him than at breakfast and an afternoon spent with Charlie, going over an expanded version of the Armory heist. Joker had decided to go ahead with it on Thursday as planned, but the explosives were beefed up to take out the entire grounds once they were safely on their way with all the goodies, including his coveted bazooka. The Joker was pushing for the use of a small bomb crafted with ammonium nitrate and detonated with fuel oil. Charlie was cautiously trying to talk him out of it as the size of the explosion was difficult to estimate and the materials were more dangerous and unpredictable than TNT. But seeing the glint in those dark eyes, he knew the Boss wouldn't be swayed. He had his heart set on a big bang, one that would rattle Gotham and send a clear signal to the Batman that the Joker had arrived.

* * *

It was just ahead of eight in the evening and the Joker and Claire had finished their supper and a satisfying game of chess where he beat her, as always, but she put up a better than usual fight. He liked the challenge she could present to him, in chess, and in other things, he would admit. She had heart. He liked, even admired that about her. She was putting the chess pieces and board away in the closet as he consulted his pocket watch and decided it was time to get started. He reached into the inside jacket pocket of his grey suit jacket and pulled out a silver flask. When she turned from the closet, he was holding it out to her with a rakish grin.

"What's that?" She came a little closer. She was dressed in a very feminine black velvet dress with a low scoop neck and long tight sleeves. It was cocktail length at about her mid-calf and she suffered with the gold heels tonight, just to look nice for him. Her hair was piled up in the style she favoured when dressed up. Her ever present pearl collar caught the light from the lava lamp so that they looked like pink pearls and her skin had a rosy glow.

"Jack Daniel's." His paint was off and he had showered and shampooed with vigor ahead of this rendezvous to look and smell nice in preparation for the intimacy to follow. It was the first time in forever that he could remember really caring about his personal hygiene ahead of sex. Women generally took him as he was, complete with the paint and all the clean-up that would mean afterward as it was impossible to get physical with him and not end up wearing almost as much as he did. He never got any complaints. Jack would have cared and he pushed that thought out of his head quickly as it came too close to the truth for him to acknowledge for the moment. The brass buttons on his black vest caught the rosy light. They were, indeed, a handsome couple this evening. The air was charged with expectation and for the Joker, a barely contained excitement. "It's to help you with the butterflies. Just a few swigs of this and you'll be loose as a goose and ready to be my little ah, bed warmer."

"I've already had wine." She reasoned, hesitating.

"And this will be just the ticket to go with it, believe me, Beautiful." His voice was low and seductive. She began to sense the draw, getting into his strange and exciting orbit, being pulled toward the sensuality he could offer even with just words alone.

He held the flask by the neck and tapped it with his long middle finger, licking his lips and nodding encouragement. She walked around the bed and over to where he sat in the straight back chair.

"Are you having some?"

"Oh no, I can't have any." He let his eyes sweep up and down her form, in an appreciative way. "It won't have the same affect on me. In fact, it could cause, ah, trouble, with the hydraulics if you know what I mean? And we certainly don't want thaaaat."

Her eyes involuntarily glanced down and took in his long, lean physique, and the soft bulge behind the zipper in his grey pinstripes. One hard thigh bounced a little either due to nerves or impatience, she couldn't be sure. She reached out and took the flask from him.

"Atta girl." He purred to her and watched as she unscrewed the cap and tipped it back, taking a brave sip of the contents. She swallowed and drew in a quick breath at the strength and bite of the whiskey going down. It warmed her though and she knew she needed a little help if she was going to be bedded by this unpredictable man. She put the cap back on and went to hand it back to him.

He stood up and pushed the flask back at her. He looked down at her and wrapped a long taut arm around her waist and pulled her close. Even in her heels, her head was about level with his collar.

"No, no. Com'on. One more. Just one more and you'll be ready." He put his nose down against hers and brought the flask up offering it. She took it and repeated the process, feeling the heat of the liquor going down. He rewarded her with a trail of soft kisses across her forehead and then his mouth took hers gently, teasingly, and she wasn't sure if it was the whiskey acting so fast or if the contact was making her world sway a little. His arm tightened around her waist as he felt her reaction. "Oh…you can fall down later…right into the bed, please. But first, you gotta go and get into something more comfy, hmmm?" He spoke against her mouth as he teased her with the promise of another kiss but not actually delivering. She pressed a hand against his chest in a gesture of asking for release. He let her go and she moved toward the bathroom, not letting his hand go until she was too far to hold it any longer. She grabbed a pile of clothing and articles from the armchair to take with her. He watched her disappear behind the closed bathroom door and then he sprang into action, preparing the room for her return.

He pulled the bedspread and sheets back in an inviting manner, plumped all five pillows to their loftiest, turned off the lava lamp and turned on the brighter, overhead light. He sat in the armchair and pulled off his shoes and socks and then stood up to take off his suit jacket. He removed the vest and laid it on the chair neatly. He retrieved Cupid and laid it carefully beneath a pillow. Satisfied with its position, he let his red suspenders fall off his shoulders and dangle along his legs as he started to unbutton his shirt. He went over to the corner that housed the little compact stereo system and rifled through the CD's to try and find something appropriate. He was looking for something instrumental. He didn't want any lyrics distracting them from the business at hand. Remembering that she liked classical, he found some Ravel and Debussy and loaded them up. Bolero was mysterious and playful while La Mer was atmospheric enough to relax and excite but would not overwhelm. He silently congratulated himself on this combination. He doffed Sonny Boy to the bedside table just as she emerged from the bathroom, turning the light off behind her.

She was dressed in an ankle length crimson satin nightgown that gathered under her bust and left her shoulders bare. Her hair was down and brushed, flowing over her creamy shoulders and as she walked past him, he saw the gown was nearly backless, dipping to her rear cleavage, displaying two of the sweetest dimples atop each finely formed cheek. Her hair tumbled down her bare back, in soft waves that tempted fingers to touch. She flicked on the lava lamp as she made her way over to the overhead light switch and turned it off. They were once again bathed in the rosy, low light of the lava lamp only.

"Ah…" He started to protest and she turned to him with a determined look in her eye.

"I'm forty-one. I'm not lying here under bright lights, naked."

"But…"

"That overhead light stays off, Jack. It's a deal breaker."

He could see that the alcohol had already started to loosen her up and he smiled despite her annoyance. She walked over to the bed and climbed in, laying down on her back, covers pulled up, arms crossed on her stomach, like she was laid out in a casket. She looked calm and resigned.

He pulled the armchair over close to the window and put one bare foot on the arm of the chair and one on the windowsill.

"What on earth are you doing now?" She looked over at him, in his odd pose by the window.

"It's a full moon tonight, Sweetheart." With that he wedged his fingers between the boards that covered the window and started to pull. The nails that held them there were long and fastened deep in the casement, so he had to put his whole body into the motion to get enough torque to coax them from their position.

She watched him, unable to speak as she was mesmerized by the sight of his long athletic legs tensed against the sill and chair and his lithely muscled torso and arms exerting full force to pry the boards from their moorings. His shirt was open, as was the top button of his pants and she watched the plane of his flat stomach harden and clench with the movement and caught sight of the dark blonde treasure trail that began just below his navel and disappeared into his trousers.

He managed to remove every second board from the window and the moonlight flooded into the room, bathing everything in a soft ivory light that overwhelmed the low rosy glow from the lava lamp. He looked over at her in the bed bathed in moonlight, and he grinned, victorious. "That's better."

Claire felt a rush of blood to her face and neck that she attributed to the alcohol taking hold and her muscles seemed to liquefy as she raised her arms above her head, pulling her long hair out and letting it spread across the white pillows. She grasped the spindles in the head board above her and arched her back as she stretched out to accommodate the laxity she felt taking hold of her entire body.

He watched from his perch on the chair and sill and let out a sigh at the sight of her.

"Oh…baby."

He jumped down, landing gracefully, and looked out at the full moon beaming down on Gotham.

His eyes got all shifty for a moment.

"I need the light of the moon……because I'm on the hunt." He said in a very dramatic and comical way that made her screw her mouth up sideways, trying hard not to laugh and encourage him. He waited a moment and then made a gesture with his hands like he was gathering something towards him. "Com'on now. Play along. Ask me what I'm hunting for….go on, ask me."

She lay on her side now and propped her head in her hand and gave in.

"What…..pray tell…..are you hunting for?"

He pointed at her. "Funny you should ask." He resumed his shifty eyed, dramatic little pantomime. "I am hunting for the very rare, very dangerous, dark-haired, green-eyed, British mountain lion."

"Oh, you're never going to let me forget that, are you?" She rolled her eyes and he went on as he stalked toward the bed.

"It is said that she only comes out at a full moon, intent on devouring young men and robbing them of their virtue."

"Virtue? Well, you should be safe then." She offered up dryly.

"Oh, look!" He pointed at her and stopped dead about a foot from the bed. She watched him warily, wondering what he was going to do next. He crouched down by the bed and then sprang up and landed on top of her, straddling her where she lay. He grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them gently above her head. His nose came to hers in a soft rub.

"I got one." He purred, and caught her mouth in a deep, luxurious kiss that broke and renewed, broke and renewed and just kept getting more intimate. He was only wearing his trousers with suspenders still dangling.

At first, she merely cooperated with the kiss but then as it deepened, she started to kiss him back. It was impossible to deny his skill and feeling so much of him unclothed, so close and warm, was affecting her just the way it should. Long forgotten sensations of pleasure and desire wafted through her and she became impatient to have her hands freed so she could touch him. He broke the kiss for a moment and she wiggled one hand free. She pushed it into his hair, feeling the curls slip through. Then she let her hand trail along his shoulder and down his bare chest. Her eyes followed the path her hand was taking and then she saw something that made her eyes widen and her mind skid to a stop.

"What is _**that**_?" She asked, quietly alarmed, as she touched the oblong patch of angry red scarring just below his ribcage on the left side. "That's not old. That's something recent." She looked up into his face and pushed the curls back to see his eyes.

"Bullet. In the summer. It's fine now. It'll fade like the rest." The way he said it hinted that he would rather not discuss it. He leaned in to renew the kiss but she put her hand out against his shoulder.

"Jack." She hissed softly. "Bullets…….and knives." She traced another, older, but lethal looking scar obviously caused by a blade.

"And lions, and tigers and bears…." He snuffled a laugh against her mouth as he tried to change the subject. He was still straddling her but was bearing most of his own weight on his calves so she was comfortable. He stroked the wrist still in his grasp. The one with the scarring. "Let's see if you have any more scars on _**you, **_hmmmm?"

He released her other hand and as it came down, he pulled softly on the lace-trimmed bodice of her nightgown, releasing her full, pale breasts into the moonlight. She moved her head to the side shyly, not looking at him, and a few strands of her long dark hair trailed across one pale pink nipple. He felt a hot rush to the groin as he took in the full, soft perfection and then blew the stray strands of her hair away, replacing it with his warm, greedy mouth. His hand mounded her breast up as he sucked and softly kissed the hardening bud while his other hand enjoyed the soft, pillowy fullness of the other breast with long, kneading fingers that teased and pinched gently. He heard a soft moan and glanced over to see her hand grasping the bed sheets. He made a mental note -'major erogenous zone'.

He put a hand to her face and made her look at him. She was flushed and her eyes were darkened with passion but at the same time, he detected some fear.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?"

She looked away, closing her eyes, reluctant to receive the compliment.

He kissed and tasted the soft curve of her delicate shoulder, one hand still toying with her breast, the thumb circling her nipple, enticing her arousal. He touched the ever present pearl collar. He knew that eventually, that would be all she was wearing.

"What _**is**_ this? I can't remember ever seeing you without it." He asked quietly, running his finger over the separate white pearls as he trailed kisses along her collar bone.

"It was my mother's." She explained softly. "It's all I have of her."

He was quiet. He didn't know what to say. It struck him in an odd way that here she was, a woman who never knew her mother and she was so determined to _**be**_ a mother. Powerful stuff, the biological urge.

"Jack, can you just keep it simple?" She said suddenly, reaching a hand to his shoulder and rubbing softly. "Nothing too….exotic…. to start with."

"It's okay." He agreed quickly, not wanting anything to stop the progress he was making. He reassured her. "I did some research on the internet. No matter what, the most important thing is to be in the missionary position when I come. Gravity helps get the stuff where it should be. You need to come, _**after**_ me. That part is important."

" I'm not very orgasmic, I'm afraid." She stroked his chest and looked worried. "It's okay. As long as you … you know."

"No, no." He held her face between his hands now and made eye contact. "I'll keep it simple. Just missionary tonight. Nothing more. It's all I need. And I'll make you come. Trust me."

She looked at him and nodded. He grinned.

"Good. Good. That's my girl. Now, I think it's time for me to get a little closer, hmmm?"

He rolled off of her and sat on the edge of the bed while he pushed his trousers off. She got a good look at his fine form from the back, his narrow, leanly muscled back, strewn here and there with more traces of violence done to him, some new, some very much in the past, and that wonderful firm backside. She looked away when he turned around to toss the covers aside to join her and she pressed her forearms to her bare bosom modestly as he moved in next to her and took her into an embrace. She allowed her arms to move up around his neck as she relaxed against his nakedness, her breasts pillowed against his chest. He began another session of deep kissing and nuzzling that nearly took her breath away. It was glorious to be able to touch him, stroke his hair, nuzzle his neck and run her hands over his lean torso and arms. She was aware that thoughts of Joker were very much at bay as she concentrated on her memories of Jack and there was still enough of the younger Jack in this man to make that possible. He welcomed every bit of contact, with closed eyes and appreciative sighs that were starting to stoke a hungry flame deep and low inside her. She felt a spark of panic accompanying the desire as she realized there was no turning back.

He reached lower and grasped her shapely, satin covered bottom in both large hands and drew her in against him more intimately. She felt the firmness of his erection pressed against her belly and it made her gasp. Her hand began its descent without any coaxing and she grasped his length, letting her fingers slip up and down a few times and then up and over the delicate tip with a soft squeeze. She felt him shudder and he tucked his head into the notch of her chin and neck and moaned softly as she repeated the motion again.

"I think I need another drink." She told him breathlessly. "Because this is going to hurt. You're a lot bigger than I'm used to."

He kissed her neck and pressed his lean hips forward eagerly offering himself into her hand for more stroking. "It's no bigger than it should be for a guy my height."

"It's got more ….. more…" She circled it with thumb and middle finger, not meeting, searching for the word to describe it.

"Girth." He helped her out. "But that's good, right?"

"Good for whom?" She giggled, the alcohol finally kicking in to allow her to relax into the whole situation.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to just shove the whole thing in all at once. I'll give it to you graaaaadually."

"While my screams deafen you." She added and he started to laugh.

"Bigger than Gary, eh?"

"Oh, no. Please don't say that name when I'm feeling so good." She groaned, continuing to pleasure him with her soft hand. She pulled the sheet aside to have a look at what her hand was holding as she laid some kisses against his chest. "I just want to see …ohmygod, it's gorgeous." She gushed in a comical way.

"And you're drunk." He chuckled and moaned at the same time, giving into the pleasure and warning her. "You better stop that or I'm going to unload in your dainty little tea-drinkin' hand."

She stroked a little faster and he slapped her hand away, both of them laughing. He reached under the covers and gathered up the skirt of her gown, pulling it up and over her head. He doffed it across the room and she shifted down under the covers.

He looked at her, lying beside him, sheet pulled up, her dark eyes watching him, and he propped himself up on one arm and grasped the top of sheet and tugged gently. She held on, biting her lip. She was clearly under the influence and it seemed to bring out the silly side of her. It was a side he knew was there but it was rare to see her this giddy. She giggled deep in her throat as they played their tug of war. He tickled her ribs through the sheet and she finally had to let go as she responded with hysterical laughter that made him smile with delight.

"Behave you little wench." He teased, taking her wrists together above her head firmly and ordering. "Leave 'em there. I need to touch you in inappropriate wayzzzah. Co-operate."

He pulled the bed covers lower to uncover her breasts and her belly. Her skin was so pale and perfect in this light that she almost looked like she was made of white marble. He ghosted his hand over each breast reverently and then stroked her belly, his fingers moving lower, below the navel. She got more serious now and closed her eyes, her right thigh moving reflexively across her left as he pulled the covers off of her completely in one smooth yank.

He looked down and grasped her right thigh firmly with a strong hand, coaxing it apart from her left to open her legs and expose her completely to him. His hand slipped between her thighs and fingers stroked the bare satiny lips below a small patch of short, silky dark curls. Her hips rose up in response, pressing her pussy against his hand.

"Oh that's perfect. I'm glad you left some locks. I like to know I'm fucking a woman. Don't like little girls. Never did. Not even when I was a little boy." He lowered his head to tease her navel with the tip of his hot tongue as his fingers began to separate her moist lips. "And what a demure little puss you have. All closed up like that, keeping her secrets to herself, hmmmm?" He saw her belly quiver and he raised his mouth to her ear and spoke softly, seductively. "You wouldn't mind if I explored a little, now would ya?"

She could hardly speak but managed to get out "Just fingers…"

"If you say so." He purred. "But I bet you taste fantastic."

Her eyes darted to his and despite the alcohol, he saw panic. Her thighs squeezed shut against his hand. He quickly backtracked, desperate to reassure.

"No, no. It's okay. Just fingers. Baby…please." He kissed her mouth softly, over and over to repent. She sighed into his kisses and gradually, he felt her silky thighs move apart in an invitation for him to proceed and his erection hardened to the consistency of granite.

He separated her lips gently with his fingers and looked down, his forearm coaxing her legs apart further to have more visual.

"God, that's beautiful. You're all pink and perfect." He pushed one finger in and up, feeling the hot, wet silk of her opening. She was very tight and he got a little dizzy with all the blood rushing to his groin. He coaxed in a second finger and scissored them apart, moving a little deeper. She responded with a moan that made his cock ache.

His thumb moved upwards in the slippery folds and brushed either side of her hood as gentle as a whisper and she arched her back. She reached for him and he responded by moving up so she could embrace him, burying her face in his neck as his hand continued to explore and pleasure her. She stroked his shoulders and his back and then clung to him as though her life depended on it.

"You okay?" He whispered into her hair.

She spoke against his neck, breathless in her arousal.

"I can't get close enough."

"What?" He wasn't sure he heard her correctly. He pulled away a little to look down at her.

"I feel like I can't get close enough. I want to be closer." She moaned like she was in misery.

"You mean you want me inside?" He let his fingers slip away and put his hand to the inside of her shapely knee, moving it up gently, getting ready, hardly believing that she was asking him.

"Yes. Please. I need you inside." She clawed her hands through his hair and the leg he was coaxing hiked up on its own and he felt her ankle snuggle into the small of his back.

"Shit." He looked down in wonder at the angle of her hip as she opened up for him. "You're really flexible."

"Yoga." She moved her mouth up to his and kissed him as she pressed her body up against his, impatient. "Please put that beautiful thing inside me."

"Thank you Jack Daniel's." He muttered into the pillow as he positioned himself over her in the classic missionary position. He pushed the head of his erection in just a few inches and felt the tight, warm squeeze of her opening around it. The pleasure was off the charts and he bit into the pillow beside her head and grunted to fight the urge to thrust into her to the hilt. He placed the flat of his hand low on her pubic area to keep him from going in all the way and relaxed against it. Instantly, he felt her hands go down, frantically clawing at his hand.

"I want you. I want you. All of you." She whispered urgently. "Fill me up. Do it. Do it." She tore his hand away and he entered her fully with a groan. He rested there for a moment to allow her to accommodate and him to focus because he was afraid he was going to come far too soon. She was so lubricated that the tightness was no problem - just unbelievable pleasure. But he wanted to savour it, prolong it.

He began to thrust slowly, deeply, and looked down into her face. He pushed her long hair back with his hand and stroked her cheek. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back, registering the pleasure with soft moans and hips that moved with his rhythm. The warmth and silkiness of her skin against his groin and belly was delicious. He moved the hand not supporting him to her breasts, grasping the soft fullness, each in turn. His thumb circled the pale pink nipples that made his mouth water.

He wasn't sure this was real anymore. The intensity, the deep, deep pleasure was like nothing he had ever felt before. Watching her in rapture beneath him was the stuff of fantasy and fantasies usually disappointed in real life. But here they were, and it was a hundred times better than anything he had ever imagined. He panicked when he felt the first faint spasms deep in his groin that signaled that release was near. He fought it. He didn't want it. Not this soon.

She was murmuring something softly, turning her head from side to side, like she was distressed. He leaned down, put his mouth to her ear.

"What? What is it, baby?"

She kissed him softly along the jaw and then pressed her mouth against his neck and started to suck gently, making him shudder with pleasure. Then she said it again, louder, so he could hear her.

"My sweet, sweet, beautiful man." She breathed against his ear and he trembled, gasped and groaned as the orgasm over took him.

"Oh..no." He groaned as the rhythm was lost and his groin clenched delivering mind-blowing pleasure to his nervous system as his seed was given up deep inside her in powerful spasms.

She felt his fluid warmth filling her as she watched him, fascinated. He was so completely lost and helpless in his orgasm. Eyes closed to the pleasure, he finally collapsed on top of her, head burrowed into her neck as she stroked his hair and shoulders to sooth him. After about a minute, she felt his shoulders start to shake and unbelievably, he began to snuffle a laugh into her hair. She began to shift under him and he, still inside her, immediately put a firm hand to her hip to make her lie still.

"No, no. You have to stay on your back for twenty minutes at least……" He gave her instructions. "And….." He reached beside him and grabbed a pillow. "Raise your gorgeous little ass a little, now…." He lifted enough for her to do as told while he tucked the pillow under her hips, still with his semi-erect cock inside her.

"The internet?" She teased, but knew for a fact, that this was how you did it. She knew from her attempts with Gary.

"Of course. It's the oracle I consult on a regular basis."

She spluttered a little laugh against his chest, her legs still tucked around him possessively. She was still enjoying the feel of him so deep inside and the warmth of his body covering her.

"Now." He raised himself to look at her and took his weight onto his forearms beside her head. "It's your turn Pigeon."

"It's alright." She teased the loose tendrils of his hair with playful fingers. "Mission accomplished." She started to unwind her legs to release him but he reached down and moved them back up, only a little higher.

"Shhusshh." He gave her a stern look that only made her giggle. "I mean it, Claire." This earned him one of her deep, gurgling laughs that seemed to come from her toes. God, he loved that one. It was infectious and set him to giggling despite his attempt to stay focused.

"You should really drink more, you know?" He told her, checking his position, getting ready.

"Oh yeah?" She gave him a defiant look.

"And you should fuck more, too." He shifted himself higher on her, trying to get the angle right, his cock still firm enough to remain inside.

"Oh yeah?" She repeated and then he started to thrust again and she said again, but in an altogether different tone. "Ohhhhh….yeahhhhhh."

He teased her mouth with his tongue and she opened to him eagerly, her hips beginning to match his again, savouring the slippery contact of the root of his penis against her clit with every thrust. He tipped his head down, closed his eyes, and concentrated, maintaining the delicate friction and stepping up the speed. He listened to her breath as it quickened and then lapsed into gasping. He knew she was close. She pressed her head to the side, deep into the pillow, eyes closed, spiraling toward the promise of release. His mouth moved to her breast and he teased the pink nipple with his tongue. He watched as she tossed her head to the other side, her teeth biting her lower lip firmly, eyes scrunched tight, she started to moan. He sucked and bit softly into the delicate nipple and she bit back a scream as he felt her silken walls tighten around his cock as she reached orgasm.

He rode it out with her, slowing his pace but remaining inside, savouring the quaking of her most intimate space around his cock as she clung to him and murmured sweet things against his ear. He wondered if it was all the alcohol or if she really was feeling any of the things she was telling him in her throaty, whispery, post-coital voice.

He counted at least four, maybe five, orgasms. Poor deprived thing. He was glad to be of service. He figured she must have at least ten more minutes to wait and made a mental note to keep the watch handy so he could time it properly when the time came for it to really count. He was about to withdraw to give her some space and gloat a little when she made an observation for both of them.

"You're getting hard again." She whispered to him, moving her hips up a little to take him in deeper.

"Hmmmm…I think you're right about that." He felt the warm, pulsing, pleasure beginning to build again. He brushed her hair away from her face and looked at her. She was flushed and beautiful in her afterglow. "So, wanna go again?" He offered, reaching one arm under her and the pillow to move as deeply into her as he could. He gave a tentative thrust that was met with an appreciative groan.

"Okay, but….." She smiled at the memory of Jack, the school boy. "You're not getting extra credit."


	14. Chapter 14 Addiction

The Endgame

Chapter Fourteen

Addiction

It was nearly three in the morning and Claire tossed, alone, in the bed, trying to push her mind to a still place so she could fall asleep. She thought about having a bath or shower but it was against the "rules" he had carefully outlined for her. She had to wait at least eight hours or she was washing away still viable sperm. So, she had settled for a wash and tidy from the bathroom sink. It was ridiculous because it would be a miracle if she was even fertile at this point in her cycle but those were his rules and she didn't want to deal with the consequences of disobeying him. Things were, after all, going fairly smoothly between them right now. She lay there, staring at the ceiling in the moonlight, perplexed and disturbed.

After their second session of intercourse, she had enjoyed a little time just lying with him. He wasn't stingy with the cuddling, which surprised her, but he seemed determined to take the conversation as far away from their activity as possible. He had spoken about the Batman for the first time to her in some detail, telling her about the few times they had been close enough to share words, shouted across rooftops, and once in the very courtyard outside. That was before the Joker had made the building his home base. He first became aware of it the night he and the Bat exchanged warnings of what was to come if the Joker did not give up his agenda of chaos. He had told her that the Batman wanted the Joker to return to Arkham and serve out his time there. He had escaped months ahead of his planned release and the Bat, being a stickler for details, wanted him to go back and finish his stay. Claire noticed that when he spoke of the Batman, he took on an air of childlike wonder and excitement. She got the impression that the Batman was at once an adversary and the object of some fascination and perhaps even, admiration. Though she was sure that this was something he would never admit.

She enjoyed the talk and the warmth of lying in his embrace after what they had shared. But then, out of the blue, he had left her. He explained to her that he didn't sleep with anyone. He always, without exception, slept alone. It wasn't said in a hurtful or even an apologetic way. It was simply stated as a fact. He kissed her on the nose and then gathered his clothing from the chair, his pocket watch from the table, and left for his rooms on the floor below.

She wasn't sure what she had expected after the sex. She was well aware that she was dealing with a person who was unique in respect to how he viewed the world and everything and everyone in it. The fact he wasn't there, warming the other side of the bed and sleeping contentedly after their intimacy should not surprise her. This was just sex. That's how he saw it. She knew that. Yet, something in her felt disappointed and troubled.

Being with him so intimately had been so much more than she had expected. She had known ahead of it that she was attracted to him but being with him, like that, watching him let down all his defenses and indulge in something as intimate and raw as sex, was amazing to her – the fact that he allowed himself the vulnerability that came with that kind of intimacy. It was clear that he knew his way around women and their bodies. He wasn't selfish in bed. He was just as concerned about what she was experiencing and she found that odd in an alpha male. But then, sometimes, with men, the pleasure the woman registered was validation for the ego as well. It made them more of a man, in their own mind. Yet, somehow she doubted that this was the case with the Joker. He was too secure for that. He honestly didn't seem to need validation from anyone for anything.

He had taken his time, not pushed her toward behavior that she was sure he was used to – the more uninhibited practices of oral sex, for instance. He had contented himself with plain vanilla when she was pretty sure he was used to sixty flavours. She was pretty sure that just having sex in a bed was probably a novelty for him. That thought, the thought of him and his earlier admission of numerous sex partners, slithered through her mind like an unwanted guest. She rationalized that the sex, itself, made her feel more connected to him now and maybe even a little possessive. She would have to keep reminding herself of the reality of the situation. This was not a romantic relationship and it would not go anywhere beyond the next week and a half. Then she would return to her life and he would go back to his, complete with Connie and Marta and the variety of other women who succumbed to his undeniable charm. If she started feeling possessive, she would most certainly drive herself crazy. He was not a man who could be possessed. She had to be very, very careful.

She moved onto her side and pushed her hands under her pillow to try and get cozy enough to drift off to sleep when her hand encountered something cold and hard. Lifting the pillow, she saw the moonlight reflecting off of Cupid's handle. She felt a moment of shock, disbelief, and then something like excitement. He had placed his beloved knife directly under her pillow and it had been there the entire time they were engaged in sex. Should she be insulted or flattered? The blade was tucked safely away in the handle.

She sat up, interested, and carefully took the handle into her hand. It was much heavier than it looked. She took the time to study how it was put together, seeing the slotted sides which allowed the blade to be deployed and the button at the base. Somehow, holding it, and feeling it in her hand made her feel close to him. She marveled now, more than ever, how deftly he could handle this thing as it was dense and cumbersome. It would feel smaller in his large hand, of course, and no doubt, he had lots of practice and he would say his life depended on knowing how to handle Cupid.

Holding her breath, and moving it out carefully, away from her body in her left hand, she teased the release with her thumb. She jumped when the blade appeared like magic with a metallic hiss and click as it moved into locked position. The moonlight gleamed silver along the slotted blade that looked sharp enough to cut through anything with terrifying ease.

"Now that's a sight – my two favourite girls, ah, getting to know each other." His low voice from the doorway startled her and she raised the knife dangerously close to her face in her fright.

He moved over to the bed and grasped her wrist firmly as he removed it from her hand.

"Careful, Kitten." He flicked the lever, returning the blade to its sheath, clicked the safety and dropped the knife on the bed, at a safe distance. "I came up to try and steal her back without waking you." He held out a packaged item. "And to leave you this."

It was a digital basal thermometer. She took it and looked at him in wonder.

"Where did you…"

"I sent Midget for it this morning. Had to write it down for him. He had no idea what I was talking about."

"But what if the pharmacist said something or he figured it out?" Claire wondered out loud. "It's a strange request and used for only one thing."

"Don't worry about Midget." The Joker sounded confident. "Our secret is safe."

"You must trust him very much." Claire concluded and he gave her a look like he wanted to laugh.

He looked tired, dressed only in an ancient pair of button fly jeans, one knee torn, and green suspenders. He didn't join her on the bed. Instead, he moved over to the armchair and sat down with a sigh and smiled at her in a knowing way.

"Couldn't sleep either, eh?"

She nodded, moving back in the bed to lean into the pillows piled against the headboard. She was dressed in a red satin robe, the companion to the nightgown she had worn some hours ago. Her face was bare of makeup as was his.

She couldn't return his gaze. She looked away, shyly, wondering what he was thinking.

"You sober now?" He asked in a playful way.

"I wasn't that drunk."

"Oh, you were. You said some things. Yeah, you were." He grinned now, and she had to smile back.

He snapped the suspenders on his bare chest and wiggled his fingers at her.

"Why don't you come on over here, hmmm?" He padded the arms of the large, brown upholstered chair. "Plenty of room."

The pleasure she felt at his invitation nearly made her giddy but she tried to conceal how pleased she was. Be careful, Claire, she said to herself. This means nothing to him. It should mean as much to you.

She got up slowly and moved from the bed over to stand in front of him as he looked up at her, teasing the tie belt on her robe with his long, agile fingers.

"I smell soap." He sniffed at her shoulder, suspiciously, "You didn't.."

"I just washed up at the sink." She assured him, shivering at the feel of his breath against her. She felt mild panic at her incredible need to be close to him again. Her knees were weak with it. What was happening to her? She wondered for a moment if he had drugged her with that booze she drank earlier. Anything was possible with this man.

"Good. Good." He praised her like she was a child.

She gave into her urge to make contact and moved her hand out to touch his bare, warm shoulder, teasing the suspender strap with her fingers. Still, he didn't bring her into the chair with him. She waited.

He pulled on the loose end of the tie belt and then pushed her robe open to expose her breasts into the ivory light of the three o'clock full moon. She was naked except for a pair of black lace bikini panties. She could see his chest start to rise and fall with the increase in his breathing and it thrilled her to the core to know she could arouse him like this.

"Come." He instructed her, pulling her forward and placing her knees either side of him in the chair as he pulled her forward in his lap and brought his mouth and hands to her breasts to take his pleasure. She shook her hair back behind her to give him more access, and combed her fingers through his unruly mane, the thrill of his ministrations making her close her eyes and choke back what would be very wanton sounds if she let them out. She listened to the soft sucking sound of his mouth at her breasts and could hardly catch her breath in her arousal.

His mouth moved up to her neck, licking, nuzzling and then softly biting along her jaw until he caught her panting mouth in a deep kiss. His hands fell to her hips and fingers moved along the edges of the lace panties.

"Hmmmm….these are nice. But not nearly as pretty as what they're covering." He purred with a hot breath against her ear.

She moaned at the loss of his mouth and he came back to renew the kiss, pushing his tongue in to flutter against her own and she moaned some more, her back arching and her hips beginning to move softly as she pressed herself against his bare stomach and chest and the hardness behind the button fly.

"You like my mouth, don't you?" He spoke against her lips. It was an odd question. She kissed him as she made an appreciative sound to answer him.

"Then why won't you let me go down on you?"

She pulled back a bit but he held her firmly where she was.

"It's okay. It's okay." He reassured her, stroking her cheek, keeping her close against him. "It's only a question, baby."

"I've never."

"Never?" He moved a hand under the robe and stroked the small of her back, keeping the mood, stoking the fire.

"Gary wanted to. But I wouldn't let him."

"You mean girl." He chastised her, slipping his hand into the back of her panties to give one satiny soft cheek a squeeze.

"I'm not mean. I just have limits."

"Well, in my world, limits are only there to be tested." He nodded at her sagely. "And I can't be sure of course, but I've _**heard **_that it can be quite pleasurable for the receiver."

She twisted his suspender in her fingers and looked rather sullen. He continued in his campaign.

"Will you think about it, hmmmm?" Please? I would really, really like to enjoy you that way."

He felt her stiffen a little in his arms, so he added quickly. "Not now. Just think about it, okay?" She relaxed again, and gave a little nod, putting her forehead to his and then moved in to capture his mouth again with hers.

He felt her fingers fiddling with the buttons on his jeans and he nuzzled her ear.

"Is there something you're after in there, baby? Something you want?" He teased.

She laid a series of tiny kisses against his shoulder and massaged his stomach with her palms, letting the tips of her fingers run a little below the waist of his pants.

"God, I love your body." She whispered to him so quietly, he had to strain to hear.

"I feel so …. so…. _**used**_." He protested and they both started to laugh until she pressed herself in very tightly and groaned in frustration.

"Look, if you want it." He stroked her hair, "Take it. I'll just sit back and let you abuse me."

She opened the buttons with anxious fingers and reached in to release his erection from his jeans. While her hands began to stroke and fondle his length, he pushed both hands under the lace and cradled her perfect bottom in his hands greedily. Then he placed his hands along her shapely thighs and felt them flex as she began to move her hips in a very suggestive way. His hands moved up her thighs and long fingers crept under the black lace, teasing the delicate outer lips, hot and wet. She laid her head against his shoulder and watched, fascinated, as he removed one hand and brought fingertips to his nose and took a long inhale to drink in her scent.

"Claire?" He said her name in a low, husky tone that made her close her eyes.

"What?" She found her voice despite the strain of heavy breathing and gasping when he returned his hand to tease the outer lips open, stroking the wet slippery inner folds of her sex.

"Fuck me."

She didn't hesitate. Raising her bottom up, she didn't waste time removing the panties. She just pushed the lace aside as she coaxed the head of his erection into her opening and then gently, slowly, lowered herself onto his length, taking him deeply into her. Straddling him, she began to move on him, cradling his head tenderly against her shoulder as he moaned his appreciation. His hips started to buck upwards to match her movements and increase the friction. He moved his head back so he could see her and their eyes locked as their bodies moved in sync, lost in pleasure and yearning so pure, neither one of them could compare it to any other experience. This was bliss. It went way beyond the beyond.

The feel of him inside her was nearly too much pleasure to absorb and when she looked into his chocolate brown eyes, heavy with lust, she was terrified at the depth of her need for him. This was something older than the last few days. This desire, obsession, went back to his school days. Her feelings, her affection, her attraction was starting to bridge the gap and it was getting difficult to make a distinction between that Jack and this one, any longer. There was an overwhelming tenderness and protectiveness that was coming into the bewildering mix of emotions that warned her of heartbreak to come.

And true to form, he read her mind.

"You wanted this when I was fifteen, didn't you? You would have, eventually, given it to me." His voice was ragged with breathless pleasure. He closed his eyes against the thrill and promise of orgasm. "You would have, wouldn't you?" He pressed for an answer.

She put a tender hand to his left scarred cheek and slowed her movement, sensing he was getting close and not wanting it to end so soon.

"Yes, baby. I wanted you." She told him softly and kissed him. "You would have worn me down, sooner or later."

He grinned, holding her hips as she stopped for the moment. "I knew it."

"It was still wrong." She said without conviction, as she continued to kiss him, laying her breasts against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body, his erection still throbbing deep inside her. "I was wrong."

"We were meant to do this, Claire. I think we sensed it. It was bound to happen." He put his arms around her and embraced her tightly and she smiled. "Now, let's get you over on your back to finish. To the bed, m' lady."

She rose up and broke the bond, groaning a little at the loss. He shoved his jeans down and stepped out of them as they made their way to the bed. She sat on the edge and moved back as he pulled her lace panties down and off, tossing them over his shoulder. She kept the robe on but it was open and exposed her to him completely. Feet still on the floor, he leaned over her on the edge of the bed and moved her thighs apart, as she tucked her legs around him and he entered her again, thrusting deeply. He bent his head down to catch her mouth in a kiss. One hand played with her hair as his mouth plundered hers.

He raised himself for a moment and looked down, slipping out and then, slowly, penetrating her again. She realized he was watching himself moving in and out of her and taking pleasure from it. He repeated the motion and she groaned at the delicious sensation and wished she could see what he was seeing. She imagined it in her mind and it made her writhe under him. He chuckled a little at her frustration. He stopped thrusting and instead, began a slow grind, hardly pulling back at all, letting his erection maintain its depth while it made contact at different angles within her. He let his thighs do the work and watched her, fascinated at how it was starting to drive her crazy. She started to whisper "no, no," over and over again as the pressure and friction took her to another level of pleasure. He swept his hot tongue over her hard nipple and her body reacted by her hips rising up as she went into a seismic orgasm. He could feel the squeeze of the contractions around his cock as she moaned and gasped through the bliss.

"You're not supposed to come first." He told her, laughing. "You're such a greedy little thing."

"Oh, oh…" Is all she could say.

"Hold that thought." He commanded as he began to thrust again, fast and hard, until he felt the delicious release, delivering the precious fluid quickly as she continued her multiple orgasm.

"It's good. It's all good. Nothing wasted." He said breathlessly, as he collapsed on top of her and pulled out. He put his arms under her and coaxed her along to the top of the bed. He helped her get comfortable and tucked a pillow under her hips for her, before lying back, exhausted.

He could sense her watching him so he turned his head. She was staring at him, trying to catch her breath. She looked a little frightened.

"What? A little intense?"

"What was that?" She gulped at regaining her normal rate of breathing. "Was that some wild, tantric sex ritual or something?"

"Nope." He mugged at her. "I know of no such thing."

"Liar."

He just giggled.

"Wish I had a cigarette." He let out a sigh, settling back into the pillows, hand raised to rest against his forehead.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't." He said lazily. "But, it's one of those moments when I wish I did. A cigarette would be perfect right now."

She turned her head to the side; sheet pulled up modestly now, and studied him, smiling.

"Oh look!" He said excitedly, pulling something imaginary from behind her ear, holding it between his fingers to show her. "I found one."

"Oh, yeah." She played along. "Must have forgotten about that one." She smirked and stifled her laughter, amused by his little act.

He put the invisible cigarette between his lips and spoke around it. "You got a light?"

"Oh, wait." She patted her side, getting into the act. "Yeah. Here, hold still." She lifted both hands; one to hold the matchbook and one to strike the match. She moved the imaginary flame carefully to where the end of his cigarette would be. He puffed and she pulled her hand back, watching.

"Thanks, darlin'." He took a pull and then took it between his fingers again to exhale slowly. "Better watch that match or you'll get burned, baby doll." He nodded at her hand.

She blew quickly to extinguish the invisible flame and tossed it away. She moved closer to him so she could rest her head against his shoulder and watch him "smoke".

"Want a drag?" He held it out to her.

"No, I don't want to get hooked." She explained sensibly.

He nodded. "Smart."


	15. Chapter 15 Pawns

The Endgame

Chapter Fifteen

Pawns

Wednesday dawned brightly; something unusual for any day in Gotham. The Joker arrived in the kitchen, humming contently; something even more unusual. He looked over Midget's shoulder to see what was being prepared for breakfast and made hungry lip-smacking noises when he spied the Eggs Benedict bubbling away. He made his way over to the coffee maker and poured himself a mug, smelling the fragrant steam with appreciation as he looked for the sugar bowl.

"Put some aside for her. I'll take it up soon." He told the cook who nodded, used to the routine. Joker had taken over all deliveries to her and they had been told to stay on the first floor only. The rest of the tenement was off limits now. From his mood this morning, she was taking care of him in return. He had the air of a very contented man.

The back door opened and Charlie appeared, carrying some garment bags over his shoulder. He laid the bags on the kitchen table as he pushed his long brown hair out of his eyes and tucked it behind his ears. He looked at the Boss who was bright and calm, for a change. The Joker smiled at the bags.

"My new suits?"

"Yup." Charlie pulled a zipper down on one bag just a touch for his inspection. "Purple. Who knew it could be so stylish?"

"Well, hell. It's the colour of royalty and I _**am**_ the Clown Prince of Crime, remember?" Joker reminded his employee of an article in the Gotham Times that had attached the moniker to him. Seems it had inspired Joker's latest choice of apparel.

"Well, those are some fine, fine threads right there." Charlie nodded his approval. "Oh, the seamstress at the tailor's said to say "hi". Seemed a little disappointed that you didn't pick these up in person. And…..I ran into Connie last night."

"Oh?" Joker brushed his fingers over the material of his new jacket and smiled. "Was she working the evening shift at the salon? He didn't sound very interested despite the question.

"No she was walking home from evening Mass."

"Oh, right. I forgot that she's Catholic." The Joker moved his new duds to the chair and sat down with sugar, spoon and coffee. He glanced over at Midget. "Those eggs almost ready?"

"Coming right up, Boss." Midget grabbed some plates and started to fill them.

Charlie sat down as Midget put the food in front of them then returned to the counter to make toast and more coffee.

"Don't forget the blueberry jam." Joker pointed at the English muffin that had become a staple to go along with Claire's morning cup of tea. Then he turned back to Charlie. "So how is Con?'

"She seemed really upset, actually. That she hasn't seen you for a while, you know?"

"Hmmm…" Joker spooned sugar into his coffee and stirred. "What did she say and what did you say?"

"Well, I didn't say much, you know." Charlie assured him. "I mean, it's your business, right?"

"That's right."

"She told me to tell you that she knows about Marta. She said that if that's the reason you've been staying away, they had a talk and it's all good. In fact, she said something about being up for a ….. " Charlie glanced over at Midget who was turned at the stove, listening intently. He looked at Joker who had a mild, open expression on his painted face.

"Up for what?" He urged him to finish.

Charlie cleared his throat. "A …. Ménage a tois."

Midget frowned. He didn't know foreign languages. Joker just smiled and sipped his coffee.

He leaned toward Charlie with a lecherous grin.

"They're _**sisters**_ you know."

Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"Whoa. That's quite an offer, Boss. But that's sort of like incest. Isn't that against the law or something?"

"Oh…yeah….." Joker said in a serious whisper and looked around in a parody of being afraid. "I better be careful." They both started laughing.

"What is that…manager a…thing…..what you said?" Midget wanted in on the joke.

"It's a threesome - you idiot." Joker informed him without hesitation.

Midget just mouthed "oh" and went back to arranging food on a tray for Claire.

"Anyway…"Charlie picked up his fork. "She said to say hello and please go see her cause you're missed."

"Stupid religion." Joker's mind drifted a little.

"What?" Charlie had trouble, sometimes, following.

"Catholics."

"Oh, right."

"They can sin all they want you know." Joker poked an egg yolk and made it bleed yellow. "All they gotta do is get down on their knees and say "sorry" to a man in a dress and it's all okay. Slate's clean and off they go…" he scampered his hand across the table top to illustrate "to sin again. I mean, she was probably confessing to old Father Child Diddler about her frequent fornication with yours truly only to be forgiven, take communion, and then mention her interest in a threesome to you on the way home. Now that's ridiculous to a mind-boggling degree."

"Well, I'm not religious." Charlie admitted. "You?"

"I believe in nothing and worship no one." Joker said neatly. "Midget, these eggs are too runny. You're..ah.. losing your touch."

"Sorry, Boss. I guess I was in a hurry and plated them too soon. I can make more." The little henchman was eager to please.

"You ready for tomorrow?" The Joker turned to confront Midget who looked back at him, confused.

"But, I thought I was needed _**here**_ now. That I was out of the action." Midget looked a little sick.

"No, no, no." Joker was jovial. "We need a driver. Someone has to deliver the bang. You're the most important part of this thing. You'll have the detonator and you'll be driving the Hummer. You're going to take it right up to the front door and start the timer."

Charlie looked from the Joker to Midget. He had been waiting for Midget's luck to run out and this was it. When they had gone over the preparations for the ammonium nitrate based explosives, Joker had insisted on rigging the timer, himself.

"Well….if you need me." Midget looked at Charlie who looked away quickly and pushed his food around on his plate.

"I do." Joker said darkly. "There is no one else even _**remotely**_ deserving of the honour."

The smaller man thought for a moment and then shook his head. "I'll do it."

"Of course you will." Joker concluded. "Now where's that breakfast tray for our guest?"

As Midget moved to put the finishing touches on Claire's breakfast, Joker watched him carefully. Then he turned back to Charlie who looked over at Midget and then at the Boss as his eyes asked the question. Joker didn't give away the answer. Not, directly.

"Charlie, we need more men. I want at least three more. Any ideas?"

"Well, I keep running into that guy you knew in Arkham. Over at O'Reilly's. Tom Schiff."

"Schiffy?" Joker lit up and looked enthused.

"Yeah, the guy keeps asking me if you need anyone to work for you. But, he's a little….scattered and nervous, you know?"

"Hell, yeah. He's crazy." Joker said simply. "But, he's loyal. Schiffy is a born follower and he watched my back at Arkham." He let his gaze move over to Midget who was oblivious to the conversation. He raised his eyebrows at Charlie who just nodded, understanding, but suddenly less hungry that he was before.

"Should I arrange a meeting somewhere?"

"No, just bring him around after we're done with the Armory thing. On Friday."

"Bring him here?" Charlie was surprised. The Joker never took meetings where he lived. He kept his lodgings a secret except for a select few. He met with mob people, most employees and would be partners away from the tenement, in warehouses and abandoned factories around Gotham. Not even Connie knew where he lived.

"Well, sure." Charlie agreed, pushing his plate away, done with his meal. He was sure going to miss the French toast.

Claire was trying to tune the radio to a station when he appeared with breakfast, not bothering to knock. He put the tray down on the table and joined her by the bed where she put her ear close to the speaker and twisted the tuner.

"Take it over by the window." He offered his advice as she moved a little away from him, reacting to his Jokered appearance. "The signal will be clearer."

She gave up on it for the moment and turned the static off.

"Good morning, Sweetie." He didn't try to get closer but his tone attempted to warm the space between them. She crossed her arms and looked at him cautiously. She was dressed comfortably in Cha Cha's black skirt and a pale grey sweater. Her hair was up, her makeup understated.

"Morning." She mumbled stiffly. She moved over to the food tray and sat down.

"Hey!" He said suddenly, like he had just gotten an idea. She chewed on the edge of an English muffin and looked at him suspiciously.

"What now?"

"I want you to finish up there in a hurry so I can show you something."

She didn't answer him. Instead she picked up a knife and started to spread blueberry jam on her muffin.

"Aren't you going to ask me what it is? He moved a little closer and offered in a teasing way. "You know you wanna…you know you do…"

She eyed him with some suspicion. She couldn't seem to make a connection between the Joker and the young man who could inspire her lust to a degree that was frightening. The confusion was truly upsetting. She wondered if she should try and explain to him how much it disturbed her to see him like this again; to be in the company of the Joker.

He sat down on the edge of the freshly made bed, waiting for her to answer. She put the muffin down with a huff and gave him a stare. Then she stood up and walked over to him and stopped in front of him as he looked up at her, expectantly. Without asking, she reached out and smudged some of the white off his cheekbone with her thumb and fingers and looked at the flesh tone revealed underneath. He kept very still while she did it, fascinated by her attempt to sort out her confusion.

"Do you want Cupid so you can stab me and see if I bleed?" He offered drolly and she frowned, wiping her paint stained fingers on her skirt.

"I don't want you to bleed." She told him quietly. "That's the whole thing. I don't want you to be him. He takes you into danger. I want you safe."

"Of course you do. You're fucking me. You're trying to get pregnant with my offspring. Your instincts are telling you to fear for my safety. It's all biological, Pigeon." He licked his lips and smacked them with some satisfaction that he had explained it all to her in a reasonable way. "Now, can I have a little more from you than that look of mild revulsion, hmmmm?"

"It's not just biological." She argued gently. "You make it sound so completely without emotion."

"Oxytocin."

"What are you talking about." She sighed as he pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed, allowing him to take her hands into his own. He pressed his white nose against hers and she looked into the dark pits of his eyes.

"The cuddle drug." He explained further. "It's released when you orgasm. It hangs around in your system for hours and hours. It's why women want to cuddle after sex and why they get emotionally attached to whomever they are fucking."

"_**You**_ cuddle after sex." She objected.

"Only because _**you**_ want to." He admitted and she looked at the floor.

"Oh com'on. You can't be upset with me for wanting to please you."

"Well, don't do it anymore. Don't do anything just to please me. You don't have to put yourself out. It's just sex." She pulled her hands out of his and moved over a little, not looking at him.

"I enjoy pleasing you. So, in a way, I'm pleasing myself." He admitted. "It's all about _**me,**_ remember?"

She looked at him like he was hopeless but finally had to smile at his honesty.

"Oxytocin?" She wondered at his ability to sort these things out so neatly.

"Yeah. It's a great hormone. Makes you feel all cozy, cuddly and nesty." He shook his shoulders like the idea tickled him.

"So we're all just a slave to these hormones and drugs in our system?" She confirmed and he nodded.

"_**Now**_ you got it." He grinned and moved in for a kiss. She wiggled away, slipped off the bed, and returned to her breakfast table. She wasn't ready to kiss the Joker.

He moved the radio to the window sill and found a local station for her while she finished her tea and English muffin. Then he held out his hand and escorted her out of the room, down one flight of steps to the floor below – his floor.

He opened a door ahead of her and swept his arm dramatically for her to enter.

"My office, Pigeon. You can use it to your heart's content." He pointed to the computer on a battered old desk circa 1960's from a bank or corporate office long since liquidated, she guessed. The room was large and contained the aforementioned desk, computer, a table strewn with maps and blueprints, a small bed made up neatly, and stacks of books, newspapers and magazines stacked in orderly piles on the floor. There were a few empty coffee mugs abandoned here and there. The window was boarded, like hers had been, but there was a goose neck lamp shining brightly beside the computer and another on the table to illuminate the maps and blueprints.

"Do you sleep here?" She asked, entering ahead of him, a little in awe of being allowed, let alone invited, into his personal space.

"No. Just when I'm deep into planning. My bedroom's across the hall. Why? You wanna go there?" He put a hand on her shoulder and she turned around quickly, reacting to his invitation.

"No. I couldn't. Not with ….." She let her eyes move across his face, reminding him that he was currently, literally, a different person from the one she had shared a bed with only hours before. "I just can't."

"You might like it." He twisted a stray lock of her dark hair in his gloved fingers and moved his face close to hers. "It's only paint. And you have to accept me sometime. You can't go on denying who you're really fucking."

"Denial is something at which I excel." She told him smartly. "If I have to put out to use your office, I'm not interested."

"Put out?" He giggled. "No, no, Sweet Cheeks. Can't blame a guy for trying. The offer is genuine. Now, no personal email allowed, but do you think you can remember your passwords and do some trading? Hmmm?" He gave her some space as he walked over to the desk and pulled out the office chair for her to be seated.

"I think so." She relaxed a little and moved over to take a seat. He manipulated the lever to bring her up a little higher, accommodating the difference in their height. She reached forward and laid her fingers on Ctrl, Alt and Delete to bring the screen to life. The desktop background was a picture of a basket of very cute puppies. She took a deep breath and tried not to laugh. God knows what was there before but she was very sure it was swapped for this at the last minute for her benefit.

"So, I'll leave you to it, then." He brushed his fingers across the back of her neck. It made her shiver. She turned to watch him exiting. "Oh, and if you find any porn on there? Well, Charlie uses that computer too. And….." Joker winced like it was a delicate subject. "He's baaaad like that. See ya for lunch, Darling." And then he was gone.

All morning, Claire submerged herself in the world of currency and finance. She was able to access her own accounts to see what she was currently holding and then traded out some Euro for Yen and Australian dollars. She scanned the news, political and financial, and made copious notes on the pad of paper he left for her, constructing some graphs and making detailed plans to watch some trends she saw emerging. It felt good to be back at her game. And she was pleased to see that she hadn't lost much money at all during her absence. In fact, her inability to trade the last several days had probably saved her from some rash moves, and earned her quite a tidy sum in profits. It felt good to be productive again but she left her mind drift a little, trying to sum up what the last number of days meant for her.

She felt like she was taking control of her future, in an odd way. While anyone else would consider what she was doing, her activity with the Joker, as being something at best, insane, and at worst, criminal, she convinced herself that she was taking steps in the right direction. He had offered her a chance at pregnancy with the father as someone she knew to be intelligent and in the past at least, sensitive, and gifted in so many areas. This was her life and her decision. The only part that was bothering her at this point was the confusion around his present incarnation as the Joker and the stew of emotions that their intimacy had brought to the surface.

She needed to focus on the possible outcome. A baby. _**Her**_ baby. Because he wanted nothing to do with it if and when it came into being. He would fade into the past, for a second time and their lives would diverge once again; but the child would always be there for her. She needed purpose. And she needed family. She knew she could be a good mother and she was determined to learn how despite the lack of any role model in her own upbringing.

As for the sex. That had been a surprise. She reasoned that going off the anti-depressant medication had enhanced her response to him. But, still, the degree of attraction and pleasure she felt with him, was nothing short of astounding. Just thinking of it now, she could feel herself becoming aroused. The way he just gave into it, and how he moved, like liquid. The man knew how to enjoy himself and how to play a woman's body like a fine instrument. She shivered and closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the feel of him inside her. He was tall, strong and the type of man who feared nothing; but with her, like that, she could hold him and sooth him in a way that was so very gratifying. She had loved watching him dissolve into his need and then she being the one to satisfy him. He was sensual, dangerous and playful all at once. It was an intoxicating combination. This was her Jack, all grown up. Not the Joker.

She got curious, looked over her shoulder at the doorway to make sure she was still alone and then clicked on the yellow star that would take her to his favourite sites. The things he bookmarked for future reference and frequent reading. The list that appeared was fascinating. There were links to journals of psychology, studies in anthropology, sites devoted to human sexuality and in particular, how to achieve pregnancy. There were also the expected links to articles about weaponry, mostly of the exploding variety. The Arkham website was marked as well as the Gotham City website and many articles from the Gotham Times about the Batman. There was an online chess site, a couple of Italian restaurants in town where she guessed he ordered often, and then one that made her stop and stare.

It was a Russian baby name site. She blinked and clicked in and browsed the alphabet full of common Russian names for boys or girls, complete with meanings and alternate spellings. She remembered well that he had been studying Russian in high school as a way to prepare for his future travel to the country to play the masters of the chess world. He took to the language easily and commented often on how he liked the sound of it. He could speak quite a lot by the time she met him and he used to make comments sometimes in Russian just to frustrate her and make her guess what he was saying. His accent was wonderful. Should she draw the logical conclusion that he had thought enough about a possible child to care what to name him or her? And he wanted the name to be Russian. Because of his love of the language and the connection to so many of the top chess masters being from that enigmatic country? Her mind swirled around the questions it raised and she smiled a little to herself. It pleased her to think that he was looking forward, just as she was, to the possibility of contributing to the creation of a child with her.

There was a pop-up suddenly, disrupting her thoughts. It was telling her that he had email. She wavered for a moment. Her curiosity was piqued. She certainly shouldn't give into it. He wouldn't want her prying. It could cause trouble, but ….. maybe just a quick look to see who it might have come from.

She clicked into his account and saw the new message sitting there, unopened. She couldn't tell who it was from as the address was just garbled letters, making no sense whatsoever. But the subject was there in plain sight. It said "hello you big beautiful clown". She quickly clicked out and tried to get back to business – her business. She checked the Financial Times for an article on Japan she had wanted to read but the seed had been sewn. As usual, her tendency to go where she shouldn't was at war with her common sense.

She looked over her shoulder again and then clicked back into his email account. The unopened envelope icon sat beside the message like a beacon to her curiosity. Probably from Connie or Marta or God knew whom. He would know she had read it unless she deleted it afterwards. What were the chances he would find out if she deleted it? She tried to weigh her chances, just like she weighed her trading decisions. Risk or reward? Which would it yield? She dearly wanted to know what this woman had to say to the man who was currently bedding her. Did he have "girlfriends" like other guys did? What would they say to him in an email? What could she learn if she read it?

Claire bit her lip and frowned as she sized up the situation. Then she got up and walked over to close the door. She went back and sat down, placing her finger on the mouse, seeing the little hand appear over the message. She double clicked and it opened for her to invade his privacy.

The message was:

"_I miss you. I want you. I'll die if I don't have you….soon. I want your big, beautiful cock with whipped cream and a cherry on top."_

Claire took a deep breath, shocked, and struggling with something else. Some other kind of emotion that made her stomach clench in a sickening way. She blinked and read the signature. It was:

"_Hugs and Kisses….the Bat"._

Her eyes widened and she leaned in closer to make sure she had read it correctly and then a feeling of fore-boding crept over her as she looked to the scroll bar on the right and could see that there was much more to the message. She hesitated a moment and then scrolled down, down, to read the _**real **_message…..from him.

"_Busted. I knew you couldn't resist. You really gotta do something about that piss poor impulse control, Miss Sandborne. Although, it's gratifying to know you're so interested in my extra-curricular activities. Hugs and Kisses….J."_

She'd been set up. There was no way to hide the evidence of her prying now. She hit reply.

"_You're evil. Where are you?"_

Instantly, she heard his crazed laughter erupting two floors below. It took him nearly a whole minute to gain control enough to respond.

"_In the kitchen with our new blackberry. You're so predictable. I love it." _

She could hear the laughter start up again so she responded.

"_You're a mad bastard, you know that?"_

The laughter went off again for a minute or so and then.

"_Ah…pillow talk. Wanna cyber sex?"_

She was brought up short by that request and felt her face flush in response. How did he do that? She was at a loss as to how even a suggestion like that, from him, could get her all hot and bothered. But she felt manipulated at the same time by his carefully planned little joke. She replied.

"_No."_

The response came back quickly.

"_Okay. You wanna have sex…fur reel?"_

And then the conversation took off in a flurry of hasty emails rivaling instant messaging in its pace.

_"Your spelling is atrocious."_

"_Bite me."_

"_You're rude."_

"_You know you want me."_

"_You're rather full of yourself."_

"_Sure, but I like to share. Would you like to be full of me too?"_

"_Stop it."_

"_Stop what?"_

"_Stop asking about sex."_

"_Okay. You wanna know what I'm wearing?"_

"_What part of "stop" do you not understand?"_

"_Pretty much all of it."_

"_You tricked me."_

"_I know. You're so much fun."_

"_I'm embarrassed."_

"_You should be. But I forgive you. But only if you fuck me like a drunken sailor on shore leave."_

She hesitated. He wasn't angry. She should count herself lucky. She realized she was smiling more the last day or so that she had in years. He could be a lot of fun. That was it. She was having fun.

"_We'll take it up later. When you are more …. yourself."_

"_Promise?"_

"_Yes, I promise."_

"_You promise to wrap those gorgeous legs around me and take me to heaven?"_

She stared at that line. She felt confused at how it made her feel. It was so sweet and open in its sentiment that it made her swallow hard and her eyes burn. It took a minute but she typed in her response.

"_When you come to me, tonight, without the paint, we'll take each other there."_


	16. Chapter 16 Queen of Denial

The Endgame

Chapter Sixteen

Queen of Denial

The Joker took the steps two at a time, anxious to see Claire and deliver her mid-day meal to her. He was curious to see her reaction after his practical joke and really, just looking forward to spending some time with her. His morning had been full of planning and decisions and now he just wanted to relax for a bit and she was so much fun.

She was still at the computer when he peaked around the door, announcing his presence by taunting her with the subject of his fake email.

"It's that big, beautiful clown…may I come in?"

She didn't turn to acknowledge him. She remained focused on a computer screen filled with graphs and figures and all sorts of things he thought were boring.

"I don't want to talk to you." She replied shortly, and kept her attention on her work.

He grinned and entered anyway and put the tray with her lunch beside the keyboard. She continued to scroll through acres of graphs and numbers, trying her best to ignore him as he leaned over her shoulder, sniffing her hair in a very canine manner.

"Ah, com'on. You're not angry with me, are ya?" He whispered in her ear and she shivered at the contact.

"I'm livid."

"Turn around, Honey Bun. I wanna show you something." He pestered.

"There's nothing you can show me that would be of interest."

"You wouldn't say that to Jaaaaack." He sing-songed.

'Well, you're not Jaaaaack." She sing-songed back and turned to make her point further when she noticed his attire.

He stepped back and moved his purple gloved hands down his lean physique and then did a complete turn for her appraisal.

"What'd you think?" He awaited her verdict.

Claire took in the obviously new purple overcoat with the Edwardian flared sleeves and scarlet lining. It fell just below his knees. He had married it with his bottle green wool vest and a weirdly patterned shirt, an equally odd, but stylish tie, completing the look with purple pin-stripes and Sonny Boy glittering at his hip. His face paint was fresh and the eyes were blacker than she had ever seen before so that his brown eyes glittered in the deep, mysterious pits of kohl. The red gash of mouth and scars looked even more garish somehow as he flashed his tarnished grin and she leaned back in her chair.

"Well?" He tapped one toe of his worn, beat-up shoes on the floor, impatiently.

"That's a new suit." She finally spoke as her eyes fell to the tapping shoe. "It's …. well …. it's …."

"Sharp? Classy? Unique?" He tried to help her find the word.

"Unique. Yes." She shook her head and a smile played at the corners of her previously serious mouth. "Unique. Like the wearer."

"You like?" He raised his chalk white brow in anticipation.

"I do, actually." She nodded. "Work by that tailor you have mentioned?"

"That's the one. I'm taller than average and I was tired of suits not fitting me properly – you know, the shorter sleeves and pants not long enough. So, I thought I'd see what it feels like to wear a custom tailored suit."

"That tailor has an eye for design. That coat is beautiful." She could tell the fabric was expensive. It was just obvious it was quality all the way.

"Oh, the design is mine. He just put it together from my sketches."

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment, waiting for the punch line, but then she could see he was telling the truth.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

"I can't tap dance. Always wanted to tap dance." He looked at her wistfully.

"Well, there's still time." She went along with it and relaxed a little more, looking back up to his face and then she frowned.

"What?" He turned his head sideways and narrowed his eyes.

"Well, it's just your hair."

"What about my hair."

"It was clean last night. Freshly clean. So why does it look like you haven't washed it in weeks?"

"Pomade." He grinned and then elaborated. "It slicks the curls down and keeps it from getting poofy. I mean, who's going to be intimidated by poofy hair?"

"It looks filthy." She didn't mince words.

"That's even better." He nodded.

"You could get some new shoes." She decided to be honest.

"Nah….I love these shoes."

"You do?"

He kicked his right foot out and then brought it down with a backwards slide hard against the floor boards and out popped a knife tip from between the sole and the upper, gleaming like a shark's tooth.

"I see." She remarked calmly. "So, am I led to believe that you perform community service in those shoes? Picking up cigarette butts and small items of refuse to help keep the streets of Gotham clean?"

He dissolved into giggles at the suggestion and poked her shoulder with a purple leathered finger.

"Yeah. Sure. Really."

Then he brought the same foot back and kicked sharply down on the floor with the tip of the shoe to snap the dangerous blade back into its hiding place for safe keeping.

"You're just full of surprises." She sighed and shook her head.

"So are you." He said, making eye contact and smacking his lips loudly. There was no doubt that he was referring to their activity last night and in the wee hours of the morning.

She looked away and tried to turn around again to avoid any further discussion. But he leaned over and caught the arm of the swivel office chair so that she couldn't turn her back on him.

He went down on one knee to bring himself to eye level where she sat, looking down, and removing imaginary lint from her skirt.

"Claire, look at me." He touched her chin with his gloved hand to encourage her attention. She moved away from his touch. "Hey, look. I'm losing patience. " His tone lost its playful lilt. " You _**will**_ look at me." It was a command.

Her dark eyes flickered up to his, registering a degree of fear that he hadn't seen in some time. Fear was not conducive to his agenda right now so he immediately tried to smooth out the situation.

"It's just that I want so much for you to give up this delusion of yours - that you're dealing with two different people." He said in a quieter, calmer, tone.

"Why do you care? If it makes it easier for me to handle this whole thing?" She countered, genuinely interested in his answer.

"Because it's insulting." He replied sharply.

The idea of anything insulting his cool, complacent ego, was surprising to her. She frowned and maintained eye contact as she turned it over in her mind.

"Insulting?"

"Of course. How would you feel if I refused to acknowledge a part of you that was important to you? Hmmmm? "His tongue moved in agitation from one corner of his painted mouth to the other, as he put his hand on her shoulder and gazed into her eyes, serious in his need to make his point. "I mean, if you just blow off who I really am, the most important part of me, then I may as well be an anonymous sperm donor. Nameless, faceless, meaning nothing at all to you except that I can give you what you want. I can deliver the goods. It doesn't matter who I am. Even a guy like me doesn't like to feel like they're being used."

She was amazed at how he could turn this whole situation around to make it seem as though _**she**_ was using _**him**_. It was mind boggling. Yet, the passionate way he made his point made her wonder if he really, in fact, felt that way.

"Of course it matters who you are." She protested, feeling a pang that she might very well have insulted him. "It's because of who you are that I'm even going through with this."

"Who am I, Claire?" He grabbed her chin again and brought his face in closer. Her eyes darted all over his features and settled on his eyes. "Who did you fuck last night, hmmmm? Whose cum is still warm inside you this morning?"

"Jack's."

"No. Not Jack." He pushed her back in the chair and pressed in closer, taking up her personal space. "You fucked _**me**_. You gave yourself to the Joker."

"You're still Jack." She said softly but with conviction, despite his gesture of intimidation.

"No. I can assure you. I am not-t." He put a finger up in her face as he made his point. "Jack was once upon a time. His lovely teacher, his _**one friend**_, abandoned him. His mother died. He went away. All manner of shit happened that he can't remember. Probably better that way." He laid it all out for her, point by point, his voice low and gritty. "When he finally regained some identify, his face was fucked up and everyone decided he was nuts 'cause he had developed this lit-tle habit of disrupting the status quo - scaring the herd, and killing the sheep-p. He was awake. He was the Joker. Jack. Was. No. More."

She winced and looked at the floor. He moved back to give her some space. He waited for her to acknowledge what he had just told her. There was silence and then she spoke out into the room, not looking at him.

"I didn't abandon you. I never would have done that. I had no choice in the matter."

He closed his eyes and huffed in frustration. "You are missing the point."

"What? That you're the Joker?" She countered quickly.

"Yes. That would be the point."

"I know who you are. I've seen what you do. Up close and horrifying." She worried her hands together on her lap and frowned at him.

"Then why won't you accept who I am? Why do you insist on only recognizing Jack?"

"Because I went to Arkham because of him. My life fell apart and I lost the career I loved, because of him. If Jack doesn't exist then it, _**all**_ of it, was for nothing." She stared at him, ready to stand her ground on this point. "Can't you see that this is my one and only chance to salvage something positive from that very negative experience?"

He fell silent for a moment, stood up and walked over to the table piled with blueprints and maps and played with the small lamp, turning the light off and on and off and on. He raked his hand through his stringy locks in frustration, took a deep breath and then turned to her again.

"You are deluded, you know that?"

"Aren't you the one who said that we shouldn't accept things without question? That we should challenge so-called reality and make up our own mind?" She crossed her arms. "Just because my view of what's real here doesn't match yours – does that mean I have to think your thoughts? I can't have my own view, my own reality?"

He turned his head slightly to the side and a smile began to creep across the scarlet mouth so that he had to bite his bottom lip to keep it from cracking into a grin.

"Oh. I see." He pointed at her. "A little anarchy, is that it?"

"A page out of your own book, I dare say." She tilted her chin in that defiant way of hers.

"I dare say." He repeated with a chuckle. "Did I tell ya before? Love the way you talk."

She smiled. But the smile was tainted. He sensed it was not from the heart. He noticed she looked tired.

"Why do I feel like I just lost an argument?" He squinted at her suspiciously.

"You didn't lose - because I won using your own philosophy."

He frowned and closed one eye like something pained him. Then he let out a sigh as though letting the thought go.

"Would you rather not see me like this?" He gestured to his painted features. "I could stay away except for our evenings and nights for the time being."

She blinked in wonder that he had, by all appearances, yielded to her acceptance of Jack at the expense of the Joker.

"No. Don't stay away. I would only wonder what you were up to. And I do like the company. I just get uncomfortable when you try to come on to me. If you drop that, it's fine. I sort of think of you, when you're in the paint, as Jack doing a bit of theatre. You know, like his day job." She offered reasonably.

His mouth dropped open and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Are you serious?"

"I am." She nodded and giggled softly at his reaction. "I'll do whatever I have to do to get through these next days because I'm committed to giving this a chance."

"Do what you have to – to get _**through**_ it?" He came a little closer now and put a hand on one lean hip. "Hey, the woman I fucked last night and this morning wasn't just tolerating it, ya know?"

"I stopped taking anti-depressants some weeks back. I was on them for as long as I can remember. I think coming off has lit a fire under my libido."

"Oh…" He shook his head slowly, mockingly, in agreement. "So, that explains it all, then." He smirked at her and she looked at the ceiling, knowing it was very lame.

"Well…." She looked away and screwed up her mouth to keep from smiling. "You are very good at … " she cleared her throat, "_**that**_ ….and you're sort of …. attractive."

"I am? You mean me, Joker. Cause Jack's not here."

She surprised him by getting up and walking over to him. She looked up at him for a moment and again, searched his eyes. He felt her take his gloved hand in hers. She tugged at the purple leather fingers to loosen the glove and remove it, placing it on the table behind him as she continued to hold his hand. She turned his large, graceful hand over in hers and pointed to the palm.

"See this? See these lines? The unique map of who you are?" She asked him, stroking his lifeline with a soft fingertip.

"Ah…yeah, are you going to tell my fortune?" He was fascinated by the way she had approached him as the Joker for the first time, unafraid.

"If I had turned this hand over thirteen years ago, the imprint, the lines, would be identical. This hand belongs to Jack Nathaniel Napier. You may not want to remember him - but I do. That's why I came to you the way I did last night and why I want so much for this month to be productive. Jack is special to me. Please allow me that."

He pulled the hand away gently and raised it to cradle her face as she watched his eyes carefully.

"You remembered my middle name."

"It's a nice name."

"I don't think I ever heard yours. It starts with an "M". I know from your signet ring. Mary? Margaret? Mergatroid?"

"Meredith." She told him shyly. "It was my mother's name."

"Claire Meredith Sanborne." He tested her full name on his tongue. "Classy name for a classy dame." He winked and grinned at her.

She looked away, not accepting the compliment.

"Well, it's not _**Russian**_." She tossed it out there, just to see his reaction.

"What?" He frowned for a moment and then followed her gaze back to the computer. "Oh …… nosey, nosey, nosey girl…" His tone carried a playful but warning edge.

"Is that website what I think it is?" She owned up to her snooping and let her curiosity take over.

He didn't answer her but rather picked up a sandwich and offered it to her. "Here, eat this before I kill you."

She accepted the delicious looking ham and cheese and took a bite, sitting back down in the office chair as he pulled up a chair next to her, grabbing a gigantic dill pickle and taking a noisy crunch.

"Do you still speak Russian?" She decided to pursue the train of thought.

"_Da._" He answered in the language and she giggled. "Funnily enough. While I forgot anything and everything remotely important for those years, I don't seem to have lost a word of that language during my big black void-d. I'm not fluent but what I understand comes in handy when dealing with the Russian mob. They talk all around me, some of it flattering and some of it downright insulting, but, unbeknown to them, I understand almost everything they say."

He looked at her in an appreciative way, and smiled to himself as he purred to her in Russian.

"_Ty krasivaya……ty mne nravishsya."_

"Was that something dirty?"

"Nah…it was nice." He grinned and teased the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

"What's the Russian word for baby?" She munched away, happily, enjoying his company.

"Well there are two words – one for male and one for female." He explained, offering her a bite of his pickle. She declined politely. "For a male, it's pronounced _malysh_ and for a female - _malyshka_.

"Your accent is still wonderful."

"I know." .

She gave him a weary look. "What's the word for arrogant?"

"Oh, ho, ho….." He pointed at her with the pickle. "_Nadmenniyi_." He said simply. "Why act all humble when it's just not who I am?"

His honesty was, if _**she**_ was honest, one of the most refreshing things about him. It was disarming.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, the Joker and Charlie met with Freddy and Spazz in an underground garage of a vacant office building in the Narrows. The two newest henchmen were all macho piss and vinegar, eager to meet their new Boss. Charlie drove up in the black cargo van and exited ahead of the Joker, a precaution he had starting taking shortly after becoming the Joker's right hand man. He always looked around, took in the surroundings and drew his weapon, on the ready, so the Joker could relax and take care of business with some measure of security. You never knew when someone would show up out of the woodwork to cause trouble.

Charlie opened the passenger door and Joker jumped out, eager to see the Humvee that had come into his possession.

"Which one of you boys brought me this beeeyoutifulllll riiide?" Joker was tickled by the idea of attacking the Armory with one of its own military vehicles.

Freddy and Spazz looked at each other and then smiled broadly at the one and only Joker, here, in person, to cut them in on some of his action.

Freddy, the older one, spoke up first.

"We worked together. The personnel over there are dumb as fuck. A bunch of toy soldiers falling all over each other. It's freaking hilarious how one hand don't know shit about what the other one's doin'."

"You Freddy?" Joker looked down at the young punk not much younger than himself. "Are you cousin to the unfortunate Haldon, affectionately known as Asshat? The one who lost his _**pathetic, **_insignificant life while in my employ last Thursday afternoooon-n?" He got right to the point. He wanted to know where Freddy stood in relation to _**his**_ relation being executed by the Joker.

"That would be me, Sir." Freddy stuck out his black leather gloved hand as a greeting.

The Joker looked at the hand the kid was holding out to him like it was a block of smelly cheese or a dead and diseased animal. He was not a hand shaker. He regarded the practice as idiotic.

Freddy looked at Charlie who stood beside the Joker, glock at the ready, eyes shifting. He shook his head at Freddy, and the hand was withdrawn hastily.

"So, do you have a mind to even the score the first chance you get?" Joker was direct. "Some would say. Well, Charlie here _**did **_say, in fact, that I have a death wish having you work for me with a vendetta like that-t. What do you say, hmmmm?"

Freddy cleared his throat and shared his thoughts on the matter.

"Haldon was an embarrassment to the family. He fucked his little sister. He fucked with my sister and he pretty much needed killing." He said flatly and looked over at Spazz whose eyes got big behind his thick glasses. Then Freddy went on and recommended his services. "I'm good with explosives. You won't find better."

"I know. I heard." The Joker considered it for a moment. He liked Freddy's directness. He was a no bullshit kind of guy. Everyone who came into contact with the Joker was expendable but some lasted longer than others. This one might last a while. He looked over at the other young man, who immediately stood up straighter and blurted.

"I'm Spazz."

Joker leaned into the young man's acne riddled face as he shrunk back with uncertainty. "The pocket protector gave it away." Joker assured him, and then looked back at Freddy with his verdict.

"Okay, then. Show me what you got."

Freddy grinned and unzipped his black leather jacket, getting more comfortable, and walked over to the vehicle and opened the back door so Joker and Charlie could take a look inside.

"Where's the nitrate?" Joker knelt in and looked around. The truck was surprisingly empty.

"The case." Freddy came up beside him and pointed at a small black attaché just under the driver's seat, resting in a small box made of a hard Styrofoam like substance.

"That's it?"

"That's all you need." Freddy nodded. "It's a special mix. Powerful stuff."

"The accelerant?"

"Already all packed inside." Freddy explained, carefully grasping the small black case in its cradle, pulling it out slowly, keeping it even and stable. "The ammonium nitrate core is surrounded by a thin layer of gasoline. All we need is the detonator – the spark – Charlie said you were taking care of that?"

"Yup. I've got it all ready to go." Joker nodded. "We can hook it up tomorrow."

The three men watched as the Joker climbed into the back of the Humvee and crouched beside the case. He looked at it like an archeologist studying some recently unearthed bones.

"You got it packed pretty safe so it can take the ride over – the bumps along the way? Railway tracks? A pot hole?"

"Oh, it's packaged for safety. I used….." Freddy stopped speaking as he watched the Joker lean over and grasp the black case of death in his purple gloved hands and casually give it a little shake. "I wouldn't…"

"Can it take a little abuse?" Joker lifted it up and got ready to give it a toss across the inside of the vehicle to test Freddy's reputation with explosives. He looked around to see their expressions and instead, saw that he was suddenly, completely, alone. He could see just the tail end of Spazz's plaid shirt disappearing around the corner of the garage entrance.

"Ha, ha, ha!" Joker put the case down in its little Styrofoam cradle and giggled like a maniac, the sound echoing through the cavern of the empty garage. "You Pussies! Come back here! Just kidding!"


	17. Chapter 17 Calling His Bluff

The Endgame

Chapter Seventeen

Calling His Bluff

Driving back from the meeting with Freddy and Spazz, the Joker sat in the passenger seat, talking to Charlie about the plans for the Armory the next day. Charlie drove, and listened, but was a little preoccupied about the situation with Midget and the explosives. He was wondering if he should dare to bring it up to see if there was any other way to deal with the problem of Midget's insubordination when out of the blue, Joker took the conversation in a direction that surprised Charlie to the point that he actually thought he must have misunderstood his question.

"What's that, Boss?"

"I said…" Joker heaved a sigh at having to repeat himself. "Do you have any kids?"

"Yeah. I got one." Charlie looked over at Joker who seemed to be awaiting further information.

"And?" Joker waved a gloved hand around impatiently. "A few details? Pigtails or puppy dog tails? Hmmm?"

"A boy. Eight years old. Name's Leo. Well, Leonardo. But we call him Leo."

"Named after a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?" Joker seemed more interested than Charlie would have ever guessed.

"No. The artist. You know, Leonardo…"

"Da Vinci." Joker shook his head. "I know. I was pulling your chain. Does he look like you?"

"Nah. I'm not his real Dad. Not biological, anyway." Charlie opened up and shared, still wondering what brought this on. "He's Cha Cha's from an ex. He was just a tadpole when I met Cha Cha, and his real Dad is doing life at Blackgate, so he sort of feels like mine."

"How can he feel like yours if it wasn't you who did the deed?"

"Because I see him every day. He tells me about his school, his friends, and I show him stuff. You know. Man stuff. Stuff his father would be teaching him if he wasn't put away." Charlie shrugged, and noticed that they were passing the spot where they picked up that English chic last week.

"Does he call you Dad or Charlie?"

"He calls me Pop." Charlie smiled to himself, eyes on the road. "He's my boy, ya know?"

"No, I don't." Joker said simply. "I do not." And that was the end of that particular conversation.

* * *

After a fine supper of pasta primavera, the Joker returned to Claire's quarters after taking the dishes back down to the kitchen. She had moved the chess table further from the bed and flicked on the lava lamp, as she was changing the linens. Joker took a seat in the armchair by the chess board and began setting up for a game, watching her out of the corner of his eye. He noticed that she was bare foot. She was dressed in a white peasant style blouse and red and orange patterned skirt that fell to just below her lovely knees, her bare calves flexing as she leaned over the bed to spread out the clean sheets. She was humming to herself, her long wavy hair falling casually down her back.

"You look like a little bohemian, all barefoot and dressed like a gypsy." Joker remarked sardonically, putting the white king on its square.

She looked over her shoulder at him. He was without paint, in his brown cord suit, paisley vest. Her favourite. His green locks were casually messy and loose around his face. He had one long leg crossed over the other, foot dangling, relaxed, at home.

"I _**am**_ sort of bohemian, believe it or not." She admitted, returning her attention to the fitted sheet and the corners that didn't seem to want to co-operate.

"I believe it." He turned his full attention to her now as she leaned over, skirt rising a little, the outline of her fine bottom in full display. "The yoga. Your long hair."

"You don't like my hair?" She tugged at the bedding.

"No, no. I love your hair. But usually, by your age, you know, it's shorter."

She looked over her shoulder again and gave him a peeved look.

"Well? I'm right, aren't I?" He protested with a chuckle.

"Yes." She admitted. "I like it long. It's easier to take care of. And well, it's mine. I'll do with it what I like."

"That's my little rebel. Look at you go." He raised a fist in solidarity and she looked at him again over her shoulder, eyes narrowed, wondering if he was making fun of her.

"You don't like my hair."

"It's beautiful." He corrected her and then changed the subject. "You having trouble there?" He was watching her with interest.

"Sheets." She stood up straight, still with her back to him. She turned slightly and gestured to the straight back chair on the other side of the chess table. There was a fluffy blue towel folded over the back. "Remind me to use a towel tonight. We're sort of …."

"Messy." He finished her thought and snickered.

"We could go through a lot of laundry." She agreed, bending at the waist again, tugging the right corner into place as he continued to admire her form from behind. She reached for the top sheet and tossed it out over the bed and watched it billow up and float down across the mattress. They were expensive linens. He had spared no expense. Eight hundred thread count, pale yellow Egyptian cotton. She let some of it slip through her fingers as she enjoyed the sensuous feel of it. She could feel his eyes on her.

"Are you looking at my bum?" She laughed.

"Bum? What are you – three?" He scoffed. "That's an ass, Baby. And yeah. I'm looking at it."

"Well, we say "bum" in England." She explained, more pleased than she should have been that he was ogling her.

Then she felt him behind her. She went to turn but he put firm hands on her waist as though to keep her there. He was standing very close, head lowered to rest on her shoulder, he hummed to her, in a low tone and twisted her at the waist as though making her dance slowly. She smiled and enjoyed the warmth his body always radiated.

"What's up?" She turned her head just a little as he nuzzled her cheek with his nose.

"I am." He purred against her ear, hotly, pulling her gently back so she felt the firm evidence against her right buttock.

"I thought we were going to play chess."

"Nah, I'd rather make a move on you." Next thing she knew, he was pushing her forward and down, bending her over from the waist so that her upper body was against the bed, her feet were on the floor and he was draped over her from behind. His hands moved down to grasp the sides of her legs at the knees, sliding up to her hips on either side, taking the skirt with them. He bunched the skirt up around her waist so that she was naked from there down except for a pair of very skimpy white panties. His thumbs hooked into the panties at the hips and he began to slip them down. "We can do without these." He helped her step out of them.

He pushed a hand into the centre of her back and whispered to her urgently.

"Now be nice. Be good. Obeeey." He began to move off of her but pushed one more time, firmly in the centre of her back. "Stay just like that."

She tried to relax. Part of her was alarmed at his sudden commanding tone. This is not how it had been up until now. But, still, she had no reason to fear him. She suspected that he was just in the mood for something a little more his style. She took a deep breath and relaxed against the bed, uneasy that she couldn't see what he was doing, but becoming aroused at the promise of his sexual attention.

He moved back to take in the view of her bare bottom in the rosy light of the lava lamp. Her legs were pressed together modestly and he waggled his right shoe between her feet to encourage them apart. Obediently, she moved to a wider stance and he gasped at the sight he was treated to. He pushed her skirt higher to her midriff and grinned at the sweet little indentations, one above each cheek.

"Those dimples just kill me." He teased them with his fingertips lightly. "It's like your maker looked at that fine, fine ass and said "that's ….. perfection". He pushed a thumb into each one firmly with each word. "And left those dimples right there for me to admire."

Then his hands moved down to grip each fine satiny cheek with greedy appreciation. She bit into her finger to quell the deep thrill of feeling his hands on her. Her body responded with moisture and heat between her legs in record time. As undignified as the position was, there was something primal about it that made it feel so natural to submit.

He left one hand on her right cheek as the left travelled down the inside of her left thigh.

"And what's that peeking out between those silky thighs, hmmm? Christ, that's beautiful."

She felt his long fingers move between her legs to stroke her delicate lips. He pushed one into her opening and she arched her back and gasped at the pleasure. He pumped it in and out slowly, changing angles with every stroke.

"You're completely soaked." He marvelled. "Barely a few minutes of foreplay and you're just as horny as I am."

The other hand left her bottom as his finger continued to tease her. She closed her eyes to the waves of pleasure moving through her and moaned into the sheets at the sound of his zipper coming down.

His finger slipped out and she felt pressure from his body against hers and instinctively, she moved her legs further apart to accommodate. He placed a hand near her head to brace himself on the bed and the other guided his erection into her, pushing in further with each thrust until he was all in. They both groaned against the insane pleasure of penetration and then she began to pant as he started to thrust slowly, deeply, his free hand now pushing into the small of her back firmly, as he worked her.

"Good girl. Sweet girl." He praised her breathlessly, completely lost in his pleasure. He buried his face in her hair against her back and groaned at the heavenly sensation of being inside her again. Hot, wet and tight, she held him in a grip that defied description. It was like she was molded for him alone. Like they were two pieces of a jigsaw snapping into place. Perfection. Completion.

She lay beneath him, her arms above her head along the bed, pressed into the mattress, and she couldn't speak. She could hardly think. She would be happy to die right now, with this man inside her. There was nothing better. Nothing sweeter than that sound he was making as he took her with an urgency that matched her own. She formed his name on her lips but couldn't manage the actual sound.

She arched her back wantonly as he continued to push into her with total abandon, both of them tumbling toward ecstasy.

Then in one sudden motion, he was out of her, flipping her over, pushing her upwards on the bed. She lay there, stunned, disoriented, feeling abandoned and confused as he left the bed for a few frantic seconds to grab the towel and pillows. In a flurry, he moved the towel and a pillow under her bottom and started to giggle at the look of complete confusion on her face as she grasped at him desperately pulling him into her arms, down on top of her.

"What? Why did you do that?" She sounded close to tears and he looked down at her, pushing her legs apart as he got ready.

"You gotta be on your back, Baby. We're on a _**mission**_ here remember?" He used his hand to sooth her interrupted bliss as he pressed it between her thighs and stroked her intimately, keeping her stoked for further action. Her body responded by rising up against his hand eagerly. "You ready?" He spoke against her mouth as he delivered a kiss and she responded with a sigh.

"Oh yes." She assured him, as the kiss deepened and tongues began to mingle and tease, deliciously.

He moved onto her and entered again, pushing himself into her perfect, delicious grip. He tried to last but the pleasure overtook him and the pace quickened so it didn't take long for him to lose his mind to the orgasm that crackled up his spine. He moaned and shuttered through the blissful ordeal as she felt him deliver his hot fluid gift deep inside her. She held him tightly, stroking his hair and whispering against his ear as he succumbed. She loved soothing him like this. It was so gratifying to feel him helpless in her arms, if even for just a few moments.

He took a minute or so to regain his composure, and then pulled out and lay beside her. He moved up onto his side and let his hand return to where he had just left her empty. He stroked and teased with skilled fingers as she writhed against his hand, grateful for the release that followed shortly. He watched her, fascinated, as she tilted her head back, making sounds that would have been interpreted as excruciating pain, except he knew better. She seemed to leave the planet when she came, oblivious to anyone and anything as she suffered her bliss. He pushed a finger inside to feel the contractions of her orgasm, with a degree of satisfaction that bordered on smugness.

Again, he praised her, softly, in her ear, as she drifted down to earth again, her face aglow and her eyes locked on his, registering something close to adoration.

"That's my good girl. That's my sweet Claire. Now, be still. Don't move."

She followed instructions, lying quietly on her back, smiling at him as he leaned on one arm, grinning back. He reached over to pull her closer and her demeanor changed like a curtain being dropped.

"Don't. Don't pretend to want to cuddle." She told him seriously, pushing his hand away brusquely.

"Oh, ho, ho…" He started to laugh, remembering their discussion earlier in the day. "Com'on, you know you wanna."

"I don't want to if you're just doing it because you think I want to." She looked at him stubbornly. "Just stay on your side of the bed. It's just sex, remember?"

He moved onto his back and sighed. He put the back of one hand against his forehead and closed his eyes. She watched him carefully, drinking in his features, trying to understand this enigmatic man. And then she noticed it. It took a few minutes for it to register but she noticed he was completely calm. The calmest she had ever seen. She watched in wonder as he rested, still, his features in repose, without any sign of the facial tic. The tongue was relaxed, his mouth was still, in complete peace. It was the effects of the serotonin he spoke of earlier in the day. The hormone that sexual gratification bestowed upon him to leave him calm and relaxed. He hadn't made that up. It was true. She could see how it laid a blanket of calm and peace over him that must be so very welcome to his Arkham-fried nervous system. Something in her broke and she felt an overwhelming desire to hold him again. To protect him from places like Arkham, from society's idiotic ideas of what was best for him and from anyone who would try and "fix" him at his expense.

"Jack." She said softly.

"What?" He sounded tired, a little miffed at her rejection.

"I want …." She didn't know how to say it.

He opened one eye and looked at her in an inquiring way. "What."

"Just hold me, please." She said it like she was resigned.

He frowned at her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please … just do it."

"Oh, alright, then." He smirked as he moved over again and snuggled up beside her, pulling her close with one arm, the other hand smoothing her hair back from her brow. "I really don't mind. I told you."

"Okay. It's okay." She said softly, running fingers through his clean curls, watching with satisfaction the way his eyes looked heavy and ready for sleep. She loved seeing him this content. "I believe you."

He was still fully clothed and tucked away, zipped back up again. He reached down and brought the sheet up to cover her. She smiled her appreciation. He could demonstrate such a sense of decency at times that made her wonder who she was really dealing with.

He cleared his throat and put a finger on her nose, like he had something of mild importance to tell her.

"Ah….I just wanted to warn you, Sweetheart, that tomorrow is going to be a bit of an eventful day." He stroked her cheek and watched her eyes widen.

"Why? What's happening?" She sounded apprehensive.

"Well, lot's happening. You don't need the details. Only this. If you don't see me around here after seven o'clock, you know, supper time, just leave. Go home."

"Why wouldn't I see you? What are you doing, Jack?" She was sounding closer to alarmed now and he winced, trying to quell her curiosity and her sense of concern.

"It's just a job. But there's fire power involved and things could get a little chaotic. Just saying, if I'm not back, better for you to just go home." He patted her head like that was the end of that. Then he looked into her eyes that told him otherwise.

"See? I hate that." She hit his chest softly in protest. "The Joker puts you in harm's way. This agenda of his is so very dangerous. Why do you have to……why put yourself…."

"It's who I am." He grasped her hand and squeezed. "It's _**my **_agenda. It's _**my **_work. It's what I'm _**here**_ for. I thought you understood."

"No. I don't understand." She said urgently. "Maybe it's like you said. Because of knowing you like this right now. I can't feel you, so alive, so life-affirming, so warm and … and …then…accept that you just throw yourself into some dangerously stupid _**job**_ that might get you killed? I don't want you killed. I can't handle it. I don't want to think about it."

"Then, don't think about it." He concluded simply, like it made perfect sense.

The cavalier way he discussed the possibility of only living one more day made her feel desperate to make him see his folly. She interpreted it as a death wish and it infuriated her.

She turned onto her side and reached over to him to grasp his vest lapel and pull him in urgently, ready to start begging. He grasped her hips and pushed her back.

"No, no. Lie back. You know you're not supposed to move for twenty minutes. On your back." He pushed her more firmly and she gave in with a huff.

"Don't man handle me." She pushed his hands off of her and moved over to create some space between them.

"Ah, you didn't complain when I was pushing you down on the bed earlier." He eyed her with a stupid grin on his face. It infuriated her.

"Shut up."

"Oh, don't push your luck." His eyebrows went up. "Do you know how many people have gotten away with that, hmmm?"

"Get stuffed." She retorted smartly without even looking at him.

"If I didn't like fucking you so much, I'd kill you." He announced calmly, looking at his nails. "You really are treading on thin ice, Baby Doll."

"Kiss me or kill me – is that the point?" She finally looked at him again, unimpressed.

"No, the point is – I can do both." He said in a tone so grave that she went silent. "You are forgetting who you are dealing with here."

"It's no good." She finally spoke again, calmly, clearly. "I'm not afraid of you. You can threaten. But I'm past being afraid."

"Suicidal?" He concluded and she felt like striking him.

"No. Not at all." She informed him smartly. "We made a pact. We made a commitment to try to create something here. _**Someone**_. Why in the world would you agree to that if you could just turn around and kill me?"

"Because I wanted to fuck you. I told you that. Where's the mystery?"

"The mystery is in the thermometer you got for me, in the internet research on how to knock me up, and on a website devoted to Russian baby names." She laid it out, consequences be damned. She was sick of this conversation. In the last ten minutes she had gone from ecstasy, to annoyance, to sympathy, to anger and now complete despair. How one human being could put her through this emotional meat grinder and still leave her willing to go for more, was beyond her. Yet she knew she would see this through to the end. He had her in a grip so complex and secure, he could threaten her with death and she didn't even consider going home. The whole point was, and she could never tell him this, that she had never, ever felt so alive. He was the biggest rush she had ever had and she couldn't turn her back, even if everything reasonable told her that was what she should do.

He hadn't said anything. She looked over at him, laying there, deep in thought. Was he thinking about what she had just said? Was he trying to figure out what he really felt? Was he sorry about saying something so crass and out of line? Could she even wish that he might apologize for threatening to kill her? She waited. He finally cleared his throat to speak.

"Wanna play chess?"


	18. Chapter 18 Manifesto

_**Author's Note**__** - Apparently, the author should never apologize for sex in a M-rated fic so I won't. **_

The Endgame

_Chapter Eighteen_

" _Manifesto"_

After tidying up, they decided to get down to playing chess. It was drawing close to ten at night and they were into their second game. Claire had lost the first, as usual, but this time, she was doing much better, capturing several of his most powerful pieces and taking some of his earlier advice, she had avoided creating pawn islands all over the board and instead, kept her pieces clustered closer, forming more outposts and counter moves.

The Joker didn't seem concerned in the least. On the contrary, he went out of his way to praise her progress.

"Look at that. You're kicking ass and taking no prisoners, hmmmm?"

She didn't answer him, but smiled smugly, twirling her white king on a corner square.

"So, you think you can win this one?" He looked at her, ready to make his next move, hesitating for some reason, like he was teasing.

"Well, you're in bad shape there." She nodded at the board and watched as his hand came down and make its choice – the black knight. "I can't imagine how you're ………." Her thought was interrupted by the realization that while she was gleefully skipping around the board, collecting his pieces, she had become lulled into a false sense of security. She looked at the black knight, mentally calculated all the possible places it could move, and then looked up at him. Their eyes met. His were gleaming and playful. He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh shit." She spat it out as she waited for him to move. "Just do it. You know you can hardly wait."

He started to giggle and make the black knight dance on its square as if it was as happy as he was. "Doodoodillioodoo."

"Just do it and stop gloating." She crossed her arms and looked at the board in disgust.

He made his move and announced. "Check …. mate. The white king is dead, but…"

He sat up straighter and started arranging the pieces again for a new game. "Long live the king. Right?"

"Why do you bother playing with me?" She asked seriously. "I'm not much of a challenge."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. You're the biggest challenge I've found. And you're improving. You're much better at this than you think. It's just that I'm, well, I'm …."

"Better." She sighed, admitting the truth.

"Well, I was going to say that but I'm working on the arrogance thing." He said seriously, turning all his pieces on the back row to face hers. "We can have another game or we can have some fun in the sack. What's your pleasure?"

His directness took her by surprise. She decided to deflect the question for now.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about tomorrow." She put her chin on her hand and looked at him seriously.

"That's not up for discussion, baby doll. Pick another topic." He looked back at her, jaw set in a determined way.

"I don't want you to do it. Whatever it is you're going to do. Just don't do it. I'm asking it as a favour. Or at least while I'm here, don't do it." She said it calmly, quietly, not wanting to argue or upset him.

He looked back at her; she was all disheveled and lovely, still dressed like a little gypsy. He had thought about postponing the operation until she was out of the picture but decided instead to stick to plan. He couldn't have a woman distracting him from his agenda. Even _this_ woman. Women came and went. They were unpredictable, hysterical, clinging little creatures. While he loved the softness of their bodies and partaking in all the pleasure that they had to offer, he really didn't understand them. He knew how to get them to do what he wanted but in the end, he didn't understand what motivated them. Claire was different in many ways from any other woman he had known. She was more intelligent, independent, fearless, determined, but in the end, she was still the other sex. When push came to shove, as it always did with him, she would want more from him than he could give.

"I let you get back to your work. So let me get back to mine, okay?" He offered reasonably.

"My work doesn't get me killed, or arrested or locked away."

"Really?" He cocked an eyebrow with his question, clearly referring to her former occupation of teacher and the consequences that followed their fateful encounter in the classroom.

"I was referring to my present occupation." She looked away, baffled by how he could swing any argument in his favour.

"You can't afford to care about me, Claire. There's no future in it."

"I know that." She said softly, looking at him again, frowning at her inability to explain it to him in terms he could understand. "I do. But I can't help it. How can I not be concerned for you when we're doing what we're doing?"

"Think of us as a science experiment. My parts in your parts for the sole purpose of possible reproduction." He shook his head, satisfied that this made sense.

"Is that the way you really think about it?"

"No, with me, it's my parts in your parts for the sole purpose of unbelievable pleasure."

She sighed and stared at the chess board, wondering how in the world she had landed here. If someone had told her thirteen years ago that she would be sitting here now, with him, all grown up, immersed in a life of crime, caught up in a sexual liaison that she enjoyed far more than she should, trying to get pregnant with his child, she would have laughed herself silly into next Tuesday. He had said something last night, something that rang so true to her now. He had said that this was pre-destined. When she was honest with herself, she knew from the moment she locked eyes with him, when he was fifteen years old, that his life and hers were going to mesh in some way. It was almost like they recognized each other immediately when they met for the first time.

"So." His voice interrupted her reverie." Chess or our science experiment?"

She looked at him, noticing as she did often, how young he really still was. He was a fatalist. How could you argue prudence or caution with a fatalist?

"Take me to bed." She decided.

He smiled broadly. Winning yet again.

* * *

Thursday morning dawned, overcast and foreboding. When Claire emerged from the shower, he was standing by the sink, offering her a robe. She was startled and he laughed with glee at her reaction. He wasn't yet in his war paint, dressed in old jeans and a grey pin-striped dress shirt with a black vest. His sleeves were rolled up casually and his feet were bare.

She grabbed the robe hastily to cover herself but his eyes roamed quickly and he had a chance to take in every last detail.

"Good morning Sunshine." He continued to grin as she pulled the robe shut, tied the belt and then reached up to deal with her dark wet mane.

"You American boys have no manners." She tried to sound stern but had to smile a little at the situation.

"Com'on." He picked her up, bridal style. "This is perfect."

"What are you doing?" She giggled, as he carried her out into the bedroom and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed.

He climbed on the bed with her and pushed her on her back, leaning over her, on his knees.

"Now, breakfast will be a little late." He explained. And then he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered low and gritty. "But I love the taste of pussy in the morning. Did you think about it like I asked?"

"Oh no, no, no, no." She pushed a hand against his chest warily.

"Oh yes, yes, yes, yes." He put his nose to hers. "You can't say no to me this morning, Sugar Bun." His fingers moved down to the loose knot in the robe, insistent.

"Oh so you're going to play this both ways?" She argued in a laughing manner as she pushed his hands away. "I can't be concerned for your safety today but I'm supposed to grant special favours because you might get hurt or worse? That's not fair."

"Pleaaaaaassssseeeee…." He moaned in a comical way, like he was begging for his life.

She took a deep breath and looked into his brown eyes. "You mean you want to…."

"Yes." He sighed. 'I really, really want to."

"I'm not ready." She said calmly and laughed as he collapsed beside her like someone had let the air out of him. His dramatics really were entertaining.

He sat up again and she could see that he wasn't going to give this up. She rolled her eyes and he pleaded with his.

"Look, I'll make you a deal. Okay?" He nodded at her eagerly, trying to get her to play along.

"What." She tried to think of a way out of this. She had never experienced a man's oral attention down there and to be honest, when she thought about it with him, she felt like she was going to pass out. She was afraid of losing control. She wasn't ready to get that lost in the emotions he might be able to stir up with that kind of intimacy. It was not baby-making activity. It would be for pure pleasure, mainly her own. It was crossing some sort of line that she couldn't really name but knew was still intact.

"Give me twenty seconds." He continued on in his campaign, negotiating like he was selling her a used car. "Twenty teeny tiny seconds. You can count them out loud if you want. From the moment I make contact, start counting. If you don't like it, tap me on the shoulder and we're done. If you like it, well, ah, don't tap. Simple."

"I don't know, Jack. I'm just….." She looked at him, so appealing, so eager, and thought about the day ahead. "Why do you want this so much? Isn't this something I should be negotiating _for_?"

"I can't explain it." He admitted. "It's just something I need to do so badly. There's a level of trust involved that I want from you. And it's new for you. It's like you're a virgin and I'm popping your oral cherry." He licked his lips in a seductive way, and she shivered at the idea that this was actually going to happen.

"Well, I wouldn't know where to start." She admitted.

"It's okay. There's nothing you have to do. You just lay back and let me take care of you." He looked so relieved that she was going to give in.

He guided her up to the top of the bed and had her lay back on the pillows, arranging them so her hips were elevated, stroking her face, her shoulder, as he pulled her robe open. He put his hands under her knees and pushed them up, coaxing them apart. She started to shiver.

"Cold?"

"No, terrified."

"Just lay back and relax. Go to another place. You don't have to watch." He chuckled a bit at her trepidation. "I'm good at this."

"Arrogance?"

"Well, I am."

She put a forearm across her eyes and tried to let her body melt into the pillows. He moved down on the bed and she felt so exposed but very grateful that she had just showered.

"That's beautiful." He murmured as his hands pressed her inner thighs, urging her to open up even more. She followed his lead. "You're so pretty. I'll bet old Jenson gets a hard on every time he examines you. The bastard."

"He's not that old." She admitted.

"Oh, now I'm going to have to kill him."

They both started to laugh and then he moved his fingers over her soft mound to get her ready and they became quiet. He eased a finger inside and let his thumb move in delicate circles. She moaned and turned her head into the crook of her arm. She was already wet with anticipation. He added a second finger and then moved himself further down to get comfortable.

"Remember, twenty seconds from when I make contact." He said quietly, the fingers of his other hand gently spreading her open, exposing all the delicate folds of her most intimate place, fingers still inside, stroking deeply. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty….." He sang softly and she giggled, relaxing, waiting.

He made contact like a soft, intimate kiss that made her stiffen for a moment and she began to mentally count, one…two….three….four. Then his hot tongue took over from his thumb and swept up and around. Five….six….seven. He started to suck and she saw stars behind her eyes. She lost track of counting. The numbers faded away. There were sounds. He was making a sound, like soft wet suction that was the most arousing sound she had ever heard. He alternated between the sucking and the licking, the pressure always just right. He seemed to understand her anatomy better than she did as he paid attention to all the right places. Her breathing was getting heavier and she was struggling to keep still but her body betrayed her as her hips moved up pressing her deeper against his eager mouth. She felt him snuffle a giggle against her as he continued his ministrations. His fingers inside, his mouth working her expertly, she started to panic at the approaching orgasm. She felt control drizzling away. Her hand went down, not to his shoulder, but tangling into his frazzled curls. She clutched and pulled as she felt herself being moved over the crest, off the cliff and she yelled something, she didn't know what, as she came, panting and moaning and as close to tears as she had been in years. He moved his mouth from her but left his fingers inside to feel the orgasm and to give her a few deep strokes to heighten the sensation for her. Then he laid his head on her tummy to let her rest. Her hand stayed in his hair, stroking it now, patting him like he was good dog. Her breathing gradually returned to something near normal as she tried to regain some composure.

After a minute or so, he moved up and leaned down to give her a kiss. He was met abruptly with the sleeve of her robe, pushed against his mouth instead.

"You're not kissing me _now_." She looked at him like he had just tried to do something unthinkable.

"It's just you. It's not like I was doing somebody else." He laughed at her and moved her arm down. "Don't be such a baby." He tried again and she turned her cheek to him.

He sighed heavily and turned his head like he was going to move away and she relaxed only to be ambushed by his mouth coming down on hers, full on. He held her head steady with his hands while he deepened the kiss, until he felt her relax into it.

He finally broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her.

"So, what do you taste like?" He wanted to know.

"I don't know." She considered for a moment. "What do I taste like to you?"

"Like toasted almonds." He smiled. "Oh… with a touch of cinnamon."

"That's almost romantic." She smiled back.

"Is it?" He winced. "Any resemblance to romance was completely unintentional."

"I said _almost_." She reminded him.

"Oh." He looked relieved. "Okay then."

His hand moved to her breast, enjoyed the heavy softness, teasing her nipple with his thumb. He rubbed his nose against hers as she just lay there, passive and content.

"You are good at it." She whispered to him.

"Told ya." He grinned and moved closer. "Do you think I could coax another big "O" out of you before breakfast?" She heard his zipper come down. "Time to take care of your man." His head bent down and he took her nipple in his mouth, knowing full well, this was the best way to awaken her exhausted libido. She cradled his head as he turned his attention to the opposite breast. Her other hand wandered down to release his erection from his jeans. She stroked him and he came up for another kiss.

"So now you're my man?" She teased.

"Well you do have my cock in your hand. That would make me yours at this particular moment."

Before she could respond, he continued.

"Or, I could leave a little something in the freezer for you in case I don't make it back. I'm sure you and that horny bastard, Dr. Jenson, could figure out what to do with it later."

"Don't joke about that." She got serious and he searched her eyes for something, afraid he might find it. "You're coming back." She moved both arms up to pull him into her for an embrace. She moved her hands up and down his back as she laid soft kisses against his neck. "Take off these clothes." She told him. "I want to feel all of you."

* * *

After breakfast, he had told her had to leave for a while and would be back for a later lunch. It was clear he had a lot on his mind when he left her and she found herself feeling like she was watching a terrible accident in slow motion. She could do nothing to stop it. To distract herself, she got dressed and went down to his office to work for a while.

After checking what currencies she was holding and looking at the news, she started to wander through the computer files, into his personal documents. She scrolled through file after file of what looked liked scanned city documents and blueprints until she stumbled on a word document entitled "Manifesto". She stopped and clicked it open. Sixty-two pages. It began:

**_To the inhabitants of Gotham, and these United States of America, to the citizens of any region burdened by the notion of civilization or society as it exists in the malignant culture of this twenty-first century, I am here to remove the mask, to expose the man behind the curtain and to awaken the sleeping masses to the purifying light of truth. Life can only be fully lived without rules._**

It went on from there. She spent the next two hours, riveted to this document, reading his carefully constructed ideal, written with passionate intelligence. While the content was frightening in its scope, and the ideas were complex and difficult to grasp, there was a wisdom to it that struck her to her core. If she ever had any doubts about his commitment to his cause, this washed it away completely. The time and the study he would have devoted himself to in order to come up with this masterpiece of truth and anarchy, was mind-boggling.

And, with a sickening dread growing in her stomach, she realized that there was nothing that would ever sway him from his course. This wasn't some game or the antics of a thrill-seeking lunatic. This man was a revolutionary, plain and simple. He was so easy talking about his death because he had made peace with it. He was a nihilist because no one could walk around with ideas like this and be ready to act on them without inviting death to his door. He lived in the moment because that was all he had.

She read the last paragraph:

**_When I fall, it is up to you, all of you, reading this, to decide if I fell in vain. Look around you. Are you free yet? Have the false morals and empty 'ism's fallen away to a new truth – the purity and chaos of the jungle? If not, then you have more work to do. Otherwise, you will fall asleep and die before your death, choking on the dust of mediocrity and apathy. And you will deserve it. There is no God to have mercy on your souls. _**

With a shaky hand, she turned off the computer and sat there, in a daze, trying to digest what it all meant. It was like she had just gotten some important news and needed to talk to someone about it.

* * *

Charlie sat in the kitchen, going over an inventory list of weapons and amo. He had to decide where they were going to stow the new equipment they took from the Armory. The two locations on the waterfront were getting cluttered. Gasoline drums took up a lot of space and the Joker had been stock-piling them for a while to use on a really big job in future. There was only so much explosive material you could store before the storage facility itself became a potential bomb. Things had to be organized and done right the first time. You couldn't go in after and start rearranging containers of accelerant and dynamite. And the nitrate had to be separated into the smallest packages possible and kept away from everything else. He was thinking it might be time to make use of the abandoned railway car by the docks. It wasn't ideal but it was fairly secluded, wedged under a very low street bridge, away from any business or pedestrian activity. It might do. He'd drive over there as soon as the Boss was back to check it out. There were some hours left. Everything else was ready. Midget was gone gassing up the vehicles and The Joker was out rigging fuses. He was glad he was not asked along for the occasion. He had no great love for Midget but he really didn't want to have his blood on his hands, either. Charlie liked to travel light – both physically and mentally.

He didn't see her until she spoke from the doorway.

"Charlie. Can I come in?" Claire looked unsure of her reception. She was dressed in her own jeans and black sleeveless shirt from her first day there. Her hair was up in a simple pony tail. He noticed that her arm was no longer in a cast.

"What are you doing down here?" Charlie immediately looked around, and out the kitchen window. "We're not supposed to be talking. Boss's orders."

"I'm sorry. I just can't be alone up there right now." She sounded sad. She looked sad.

The henchman sat back in his chair and looked at her, wondering what to do. He couldn't go upstairs. That was forbidden. But, could he help it if she came down to see him? The Joker wasn't due back for at least another hour. He pushed his paperwork aside.

"Com'on in. But just for a few minutes."

Claire scooted over to the chair across from him and sat down gratefully. "I guess you're wondering how I got out?"

"No, no." He shook his head. "Boss told me that you are free to go but had decided to stay."

"Do you wonder why?"

"No. no. I never wonder or ask why where the Joker's concerned. His business is his business. I'm only an employee, M'am." He seemed to have trouble maintaining eye contact, glancing away often as he spoke to her.

"My name is Claire." She offered politely.

He didn't respond to that. He looked down at his hands on the table.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Sure."

"Do you think he's crazy?"

Charlie looked straight at her now and shook his head. "Yes."

"But he seems to make so much sense – most of the time." She threw it out there for debate.

"He's good at presenting himself as someone who makes sense." Charlie pulled out a package of cigarettes from his camo jacket. "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead." Claire sensed that Charlie wanted to have this conversation for some reason. She pushed ahead. "But if he's able to convince people that he's sane, how could he be crazy?"

"Any crazy person, with less intelligence, wouldn't be able to pull it off." Charlie lit up and took a drag. "But, you have to know, you must know, how smart he is."

"I do know that." She nodded. "He's brilliant in fact."

"The guy almost has an extra sense or something. It's kind of freaky." And then he narrowed his eyes and looked at her, understanding. "You don't think he's crazy?"

"No." Claire tried to think of the best way to describe it. "I think he could be a visionary or something like that. Someone who can see things that we can't."

Charlie pushed his longish hair out of his eyes and leaned forward as if to tell her something important. "This guy, Schiff. He was in Arkham with the Joker. He's really fond of the Boss but he's batshit crazy. Anyway, he told me the other night, at the bar, that when the Joker was in Arkham the last time there was this new psychiatrist there, a woman. And you know, the staff overhear the doctors talking and they talk to each other in front of the patients. Arkham is a very fucked up place. Anyway, she thought that the Boss was, what was it now……yeah …. _super sane_. That was it. Her theory is just like you said. He can see things and responds to them in ways that seem wrong to us but could really be the right way if we were as enlightened as he is."

"Super sane." Claire repeated the phrase. "I have heard of that. It makes sense."

Charlie gave her a look that cast doubt on anything that might come out of her mouth.

"You don't buy it." She concluded.

"There's a word. Charismatic. That's the Boss. He has that magic, you know? And the ladies are very taken with him, despite the obvious fucked up nature of his face."

She felt like striking him for the crude way he referred to Jack's disfigurement but knew it was better to let it go for the sake of continuing the conversation. "And you think I'm not thinking straight because he's charmed me somehow?"

"I think you don't understand what a dangerous fucking individual you are dealing with."

"I know that. I was there when he shot that man the day you picked me up." Claire reminded him. "I've seen the news. I know what he does. I'm not blind to what he is."

"If you think he's sane? Then _you're_ crazy." Charlie concluded neatly.

"Then why do you work for him? You must believe in his cause."

"Oh, no. I'm not a revolutionary, M'am. I'm a mercenary. I work for the paycheck. And you wanna know how I know he's crazy?" Charlie seemed eager to make his point. "The man doesn't care about money. He gives it away like extra zucchini out of the garden. He gives a lot to me, by the way. So I work for him. Any man who shows such disregard for money?" Charlie tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Insane."

"Maybe it's not about the money." She wondered out loud and then a thought occurred to her. "Would you kill him for money?"

"Look, I'm hired to protect him and that's what I do. And it's not an easy job because there is a legion of very pissed off individuals out there who would love to see him dead. And he's very reckless with his own life, by the way. Not so wonderful when he could take you with him. He handles explosives like a goddam circus juggler." He took a breath and answered her question. "No. I would not. He may be a crazy bastard but I believe in loyalty. I'd only kill him if he tried to take me out. That's self defense, by the way."

She went silent. She put her arms on the table and he noticed the raised star shaped scar on the inside of her right wrist. He studied her, sensing there was much more to her story. She was staring out the window, looking distraught.

"Look, M'am. I think you're a good person who knew him when _he_ was a good person. I don't mean to get you upset. But I think you should leave as soon as you can and forget about this. Your life will go much better if you're away from him."

She didn't respond. He decided to put a finer point on it for her.

"You want to know why I call you M'am when I know your name?"

She nodded that she would.

"I don't want to know your name because if he kills you, it's easier to just think of you as M'am – or better yet, nobody. It's called depersonalization. It's what we do with potential victims to make it easier to handle the idea of them dying. Nice fucking thought, isn't it? That's the kind of world you're in."

"But he hasn't killed me." She thought she should point that out.

"Because you must be doing something right." He was ready for her. "But what if you do something wrong?"

She didn't know how to answer that. They were silent for a moment and then she got up to leave but turned at the doorway.

"Charlie, take care of him today please."

"I always try to, M'am."


	19. Chapter 19 Break A Leg

_**Author's Note**:_

**_Well now, judging by the traffic and repeat visits to that last chapter, there must have been something of interest there......hmmmm? Ha, ha. _**

_**This is a shorter chapter. It was originally part of the previous one, but I thought it was too long so I separated it here as a sort of bridge to the action. Thanks for your patience. Since I write romance better than action/adventure, the coming chapters are proving to be very difficult. I'll get it done as soon as I can. Meanwhile, you might want to read the other chapters if you haven't had a chance to get to them all. Here ya go. Hope you enjoy it. **_

_**And please do review, even if it's only a few words. So very appreciated - you have no idea.**_

_**PD**_

The Endgame

_Chapter Nineteen_

"_Break a Leg"_

After her talk with Charlie, Claire returned to her room. What if he was crazy, like Charlie said. Who would know better than the man who worked with him every day, shared his schemes and took orders from him. Charlie had seen so much more of the Joker than she had.

And why shouldn't he eventually kill her? Isn't that what he usually did? She wasn't so special that he would re-arrange his modus operandi and step out of character, just for her. She was well aware that a lot of what they were doing was a game – like the chess they both loved. He was a master manipulator, she knew that. Yet, it didn't make her sorry for being here; remaining in a situation that was dangerous, even deadly. Life was interesting and exhilarating for the first time in years. She looked forward to seeing him. Her fondness for Jack, her former student, was no different than her attraction to the man he had become. It both fascinated and distressed her to speculate about the events that had lined up, like destiny's dominos, to lead him into this existence of crime and anarchy. What answers lay in the nine years of memory wiped from his mind? Would he ever get those years back? Would he even live past today?

She understood that part of what she was feeling was akin to the natural protectiveness that a teacher feels for a favourite student. There was still that dynamic in the relationship. Even though the sexual line had been crossed and she was no longer in a position of authority over him - the power was all his – she still felt that way. She had every reason to leave. Now. And not look back. But, when she thought about doing just that, she felt, irrationally, like she would be abandoning him. It was out of the question. She felt like they had formed a bond; perhaps it was sick, deluded and dangerous, but it was a bond, nonetheless. She felt closer to him than she had to anyone else in her life. In a weird way, she felt they understood each other. While the way in which they lived in the world couldn't be more different, the feeling of being an outsider, was the same. They both lived outside the box that society would have them in. On this point, they were in sync.

And there was still the issue of the possible pregnancy. A child. She still wanted that more than anything else. That it would be his child was so fitting. The one who caused her so much grief in the past could potentially fulfill her fondest dream for the future.

And taking it one step further, she embraced honesty, and admitted to herself that she enjoyed the sexual connection for much more than the potential pregnancy. He was a wonderful lover (though he would cringe at the word), and the chemistry between them bordered on the mystical. It was almost like she had just discovered her sexuality. Intercourse with him was like nothing she had ever experienced with Gary or the handful of tepid relationships she had struggled with in the past. He was as passionate in bed as he was composing Manifestos. And just as skilled. He performed a slow, delicious dance from desire to gratification that thrilled her more than any other connection to another human being ever had. She guessed that it was his intimate dalliance with death that made him so very adept at enjoying life. Food, laughter, play and sex; he embraced it all and savoured it to the last drop.

Death – his, maybe, hers. She felt tired and her mind wanted to be able to rest from the worry and the stress of what was to come later today. Beyond that, she also wondered if he was still the Jack she knew so long ago or if madness was indeed a reality for him now and that he could, in fact, kill her as easily as he had threatened to do on a few occasions.

What if she did do something wrong as Charlie had suggested would be the end of her. His question echoed in her muddled mind as she lay down on the bed, curled up on her side, embracing a pillow that still carried his scent.

* * *

He didn't find her in his office so he continued up to the top floor, entering her room without announcing himself. It was cool and dark, due to overcast conditions outside. She was curled up in the fetal position, sound asleep. Her hair tumbled loose and covered the side of her face like a dark veil. He approached quietly and took a seat in the straight back chair beside the bed and watched her for a moment. He removed a glove and used his hand to push the hair back so he could see her. She didn't wake which surprised him. She must be exhausted.

There was a rose in her cheek but the dark lashes lay so still he felt she could be dead. She looked that peaceful. But the gentle rise and fall of her chest proved otherwise.

In the quiet, peaceful approach of afternoon, he wondered what she might feel if one of Gotham's professional soldiers got off a lucky shot today and he didn't return. Would she be distressed? He knew she would be. And he wondered, without a child to provide her with a reason to be careful, how much longer would she last in the world with her habit of courting disaster? Not long, he imagined. Even now, he marveled that she was still here, taking him to her bed, nesting with him in his den of danger. Never had a woman been such good company. The chess was wonderful and the sex was sublime.

He wanted to get closer so he moved off the chair and onto the bed, the mattress giving under his weight and finally causing her eyes to flutter open. She looked at him with an expression of mild affection, despite the presence of war paint, and moved onto her back, stretching her arms above her head, chasing the sleep away.

"What time is it?" She asked with a yawn. She made a move to rise to a sitting position. "Did I miss lunch?"

While she sat up and pushed her hair behind her shoulders, he reached into his suit jacket, pulling something from the inside pocket.

"Well now, look …… see? I have something for ya." He said softly, in tune with the drowsy mood in the room and outside. He revealed a small pistol in his hand, gleaming in the low light, the mother of pearl handle nestled in his large palm, pointed directly at her stomach.

She froze, eyes locked on the weapon, and then looked into his eyes to read his expression. His eyes were nearly lost completely in the dark rings of kohl so she instead tried to read his mouth, set in an enigmatic grin, scars corrugated and crinkled.

This was it. She wondered if she was awake or dreaming. Either way, this was it. Charlie was right. She must have done something wrong. This is where it ended. Yet she felt no urge to flee. She remained calm and looked again at the gun which he had suddenly turned around in his hand as he offered her the handle.

"Try it on for size. It's not loaded yet. I saw it and thought it would be perfect for you."

When she didn't move to take it, he grasped her wrist and placed it in her hand. She felt the weight of it and the coolness of the metal.

"It occurred to me that you'll be here all alone for the first time when we're all gone on the mission. And you never know when someone might discover that I've been staying here. I wouldn't want you to be visited by any of my potential assassins without some protection." He sounded reasonable and mildly excited by the prospect.

She looked at him, and touched his chin with her free hand, urging him to turn his head slightly, to change the angle of the light so she could see his eyes. They glimmered with intelligence and not a trace of insanity. He frowned slightly at her action, his gaze both puzzled and intrigued.

"It's for me." She said quietly, hefting it in her hand as a smile spread slowly across her face. "Protection." She said the word, so grateful for the sentiment behind it.

"Of course Pigeon." He giggled at the way she repeated the obvious as he rifled through his pockets to produce three clips. "And I'm going to show you how to use it."

* * *

It was about two o'clock when Charlie got back from checking out the abandoned railway car and entered a kitchen full of steam, with every pot and container in use as Midget scooted around in his apron, stirring and pouring and checking the oven like a very ugly, busy housewife.

Charlie gave his customary peace sign as he looked around.

"What the hell?" He asked as he checked his watch, knowing that lunch time had come and gone.

"Boss wants me to cook ahead. Says we'll be back too late to make supper so he wants it done ahead of time. Little Miss England cannot be put out, you know." Midget tossed a wooden spoon on the counter from stirring boiling pasta. "Regular hotel we got going here – for one guest. I'll be glad when she _checks out_."

Charlie did not miss the double meaning of "checks out" and thought it rather ironic that Midget was wishing for another's demise. Was he that clueless? And the fact that the Joker had made sure he was going to get one last meal out of him. Again, was he that clueless? If Charlie had to lay odds on one of the two of them surviving, he'd put all his money on the Brit.

"And…." Midget continued his rant, but in subdued tones in case the Boss showed up suddenly. "Did you know she hasn't been locked up here in days? She could leave. But she stays. It boggles the mind these people who do not seem to know that hanging around that psycho will get you stabbed, or shot, or strangled or……."

"Blown up." Charlie put a fine point on it but it sailed right by Midget who had to finish his thought.

"Who does she think she's playing with? Some petty criminal, with a fucked up past, who's been misunderstood and just needs a little love and understanding?"

Charlie nodded and took a seat at the table, lighting up a cigarette, fascinated by the conversation. He agreed with Midget for argument's sake.

"You're absolutely right. We all know that when we move into his circle, there is no way to leave on your own terms. You're in his world for good and don't fuck up or … well … you're dead." It was another hint, big as a school bus. It zoomed over Midget's head like an incoming missile.

"She's fucking him, you know." Midget carried on, checking the pasta by flinging a strand at the wall. It didn't stick. He put the lid back on to wait. "I can just tell. Oh, and no party plans. He usually has one of us line up the girls for a post-job party, but not this time. Why should he when he's got that high class piece of ass waiting for him?"

"Yup. Guess we're on our own." Charlie agreed, taking a drag and squinting at the little man who, by all appearances, had no idea that he was preparing his last meal. "Guess I'll be heading home to the little woman, afterwards."

"You been getting any?" Midget asked, referring to Charlie's habit of complaining about Cha Cha's lack of interest in any marital fun.

"Maybe I'll get lucky when she sees me on the news, rubbing shoulders with the guy that gets her so hot. Maybe I'll get fucked by association." He laughed and the smaller henchman grinned.

Midget drained the noodles in a colander in the sink and plunked them back in the pot and moved it off the burner. He reached for the olive oil and changed the topic.

"You think I should be concerned about driving that humvee this afternoon? I mean, I've heard Freddy's reputation with explosives and he's meticulous. So, should be okay, right? I push the button and Boss says I have three whole minutes to put some distance between me and that bomb before it goes off. I mean, you've heard Freddy knows his stuff, right?"

Charlie wondered if he should tell Midget that the Joker had insisted on rigging the detonator himself this time. He looked at the little man and butt his cigarette in a coffee cup. He nodded. Some people were just too stupid to live.

* * *

Claire stood in the middle of the room as the Joker took a stance behind her, helping her to raise her left arm with the gun. He put his other arm around her waist and cradled her against him, leaning down to speak to her.

"Aim at the lava lamp over on the dresser, Darling. Get used to the weight for a moment to gage how much effort you need to hold it steady. Shouldn't need much. It's tiny."

She shivered at his proximity, the smell of his paint, fresh and intimidating. Yet, his touch was gentle, and his voice soothing. She tried to relax in this backwards embrace as he continued to coach her.

"Line it up. That's right. When you're ready, you take a breath, hold it, squeeze the trig……."

The gun went off with a percussive, ear-splitting bang that made them both jump as the lava lamp shattered and bled it's liquid all over the dresser top and splashed against the wall.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Joker shouted, grabbing her arm and confiscating the gun. "I didn't mean you should actually shoot the damn thing!"

"I thought the safety was on!" Claire stepped back, heart racing at the fright of firing a deadly weapon.

"You killed the lamp!"

"I'm sorry. I liked it too. I'm sorry. "

The door banged open and Charlie was suddenly in the room, gun drawn, looking from the Joker to Claire and then back again. Joker held the still-smoking gun casually and waved his free hand at the woman who was visibly shaken but taking deep breaths to calm herself.

"It's okay." He started to giggle. "She shot the lamp." He nodded at the mess by the dresser and the hole in the wall behind it.

"She?" Charlie narrowed his eyes and looked at them suspiciously. Claire looked back at him, a little smugly, he thought.

"Sure. I was showing her how to handle this new little toy I got her." Joker grabbed her hand and put the gun back into it, as she shook her head that she didn't want it.

"It's okay." He told her, still giggling. "Maybe my instructions were a little, ah, vague. You just need more practice, Kumquat."

"You gave her a gun?" Charlie put his weapon back into his coat and continued to look at them like he was trying to get a clue as to what was happening here.

"She's going to be alone, in the Narrows, in an abandoned tenement when every available cop will be busy elsewhere. And....oh.....I wasn't sure she'd _**enjoy**_ being gang raped on a Thursday afternoon. Of course I gave her a gun." He had a way of making the most reasonable question sound idiotic.

Charlie shrugged and looked at Claire again. She was holding the gun in her hands gingerly, looking distraught. She addressed the Joker in a tone that was kind and casual; as a wife would address a husband.

"I'm so sorry about the lamp. I loved that lamp."

"Don't be sad. I'll get you another one." The Joker answered in a tone Charlie had never heard him use with anyone, ever. They were speaking to each other in a way that made him feel like an intruder. And then he felt those raccoon eyes on him. "Ah, Charlie. Can you run along now, please? I'm sure you can see we're fine here on our own." He stared in a way only he could and it made Charlie back up out of the room to leave them alone.

Once the door was closed, Claire walked over to the arm chair and sat down, placing the gun carefully, with a shakey hand, on the table that usually held the chess board.

"Wanna try again?" He approached and pulled up the other chair to take a seat close to her.

"No. That's enough for now." She assured him. "If someone comes in, I'll just pretend he's a lamp."

He started to chuckle and then dissolved into laughter while she just sat there, watching him, with an ever changing expression on her face.

"How can you be so calm? When you're planning to go out there and, well, whatever it is you're going to do?" She asked reasonably, leaning forward, hands on her blue-jeaned thighs.

He finally stopped laughing and tossed one long leg over the side of the chair casually, like a teenager might sit. "Calm is the best way to approach anything the least bit dangerous. Calm and at peace."

"At peace?" She didn't like the sound of that. It smacked of nihilism.

"Don't fret. I don't want to get myself killed or locked up. I want to be able to come back here and see our little project to the end."

She looked at his painted features, a little smudged and cracked from his fit of laughter, and she could, for the first time, feel Jack, despite the presence of the Joker. The surprise must have registered on her face because he commented.

"What's up, Buttercup? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

She moved back again into the chair, pulling her knees up protectively, confused at the unwelcome realization that Jack could never be separated from the Joker. One held the other like a Russian nesting doll. One character carefully crafted to fit completely within the other. You could break the doll in half to see the one within, but even that one would hold another and another. Jack in the Joker in Jack in the Joker.

He didn't wait for her to reply. "I've got to go now. I've got lots to do to get ready."

His declaration startled her. She watched him as he rose from the chair and turned to move towards the door. Her instinct was to go after him. This could very well be the last time she ever had with him. Jack or Joker, she didn't care anymore. The only thing that mattered was that he was leaving now.

His hand touched the knob at the same time her hand caught at his sleeve and he turned to find she had followed him. He leaned against the door, looking down at her, a smile playing at the corners of his crimson mouth. He licked his lips and looked at her sideways, waiting.

"Something you wanna say?" He raised his eyebrows provocatively. "Something you maybe wanna … do?"

She moved toward him, her hand moving up his sleeve to his shoulder and touching the tip of a green tendril, softly. She stood on tip toes and leaned against him as he brought his head down to meet her. She moved her mouth to his painted one for the first time and kissed him softly. They moved apart and he grinned. "That shade looks good on you." He glanced at her mouth.

She put some fingertips to her lips and rubbed, looking at the evidence. He started to giggle and pointed at her like he had just pulled one over on her. She put her head against his chest and he put a hand into her hair, letting her rest there for a bit as she listened to his heart.

"Break a leg." She told him earnestly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's what they say in show business. Before a performance. It's for luck." She explained.

"Well, then …. I'll try for a compound fracture, Baby Doll."


	20. Chapter 20 Anarchy 101  Part One

**Author's Note:** I was hoping to have all of Anarchy 101 ready for you but didn't want to make you wait until I was finished so I have gone ahead and published the first part. I didn't think it was fair to make you wait much longer. I'm introducing some new characters here and I'll try not to let the story get too cluttered up but felt it was reasonable to shed some light on other characters impacting the Joker's life and Claire's by association. Just a reminder, these events are taking place roughly a year and a bit BEFORE the events of TDK.

_. _

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty_

"_Anarchy 101 - Part One"_

Alfred put the tea tray down by the tall windowed wall of Bruce Wayne's penthouse in the Pallisades as the young man, himself, was completing the set-up for a game of chess.

British tea time was something still observed in the Wayne household ever since the days when the good doctor and his lovely wife were still alive. He could remember those golden afternoons with young Master Wayne running into the drawing room, energized from hours of vigorous outdoor activity on the rambling grounds of the manor. Ruddy- faced, hair and clothing disheveled from all his climbing and adventure, sometimes accompanied by pig-tailed Rachel, he would scan the contents of the trays for his favourite sweets which were always there.

Today, the tall building was rattled by ominous thunder as a driving rain was beginning to pelt the floor to ceiling windows, and there was just the two of them, as was becoming usual. Rachel did not join them as often any more. Her increasing absence was an untended wound that Bruce seemed to prefer suffering with rather than give it the attention it deserved.

"I don't remember ordering this weather, Sir." Alfred passed Bruce a tray. The younger man scanned and located the lemon coconut raspberry bars, taking one immediately, not waiting for the tea that Alfred was pouring carefully.

"Another day's delay in getting the manor restored." Bruce observed dryly. "At this rate, you'll be retired before we ever take up our old address. Hell, maybe not until _**I'm**_ retired."

"You or the Batman, Sir?" Alfred placed a teacup and saucer on the young man's side of the small games table by the window and took his own cup to his side of the board.

"You and Rachel." Bruce took a sip of the hot, Earl Grey and cocked an eyebrow at his companion. "You both seem so hell bent on ending the Batman's career. Whatever would I do with all that time?"

"Live, Sir."

"Oh you two _**have**_ been talking." He said without humour. The wound was open again. Alfred hesitated a moment but then forged ahead. This had to be addressed.

"So that's it then." He looked at Bruce seriously, his voice quiet, polite. "That's why she hasn't been around as much. She wants you to give up your detective work."

Bruce was quiet for a moment and then tapped a slender finger on the edge of the board in front of them. "You start – you're white."

Alfred sighed heavily, thinking his well-intentioned question had been dismissed. But just as he touched the pawn to make the first move, Bruce spoke again.

"Just because Crane is in Arkham now and the city was saved from mass hysteria, does not mean that Gotham is safe from all the other scum that crawl around at night like cockroaches under the kitchen sink. Jeremiah Arkham has a cozy little arrangement with the mob in this city to keep the likes of the Scarecrow safe from secure lock-up at Blackgate. Arkham is a security joke. And speaking of jokes…" Bruce moved a black pawn two spaces and reached for another lemony treat. "I have to keep patrolling to get the Joker back to Arkham where he belongs. He keeps slipping through my fingers. The man is as intelligent as they come. And my leads - the trail - is cold."

"You saw him some weeks ago if my memory serves, Sir?"

"Dumb luck. I was on patrol looking for Maroni's men who were supposed to be delivering some drugs to the Russians in the Narrows. The Joker was fleeing on foot, apparently being followed by one of the Italian's men intent on settling a score with the clown over some intercepted drug money from the week before. He was caught between us, but still somehow managed to elude the thug and me by dodging up a blind alley and disappearing like a mirage. I caught up to him later in a courtyard surrounded by abandoned tenements and we had a few words before he disappeared again before I could subdue him. The man disturbs me, Alfred."

"He's murdered at least three people we know of, Sir. That is disturbing." Alfred agreed, sipping his tea, and finding the conversation both of interest and concern.

Bruce ran a hand through his dark brown hair that always seemed to be threatening to fall into his serious brown eyes, and sighed.

"Oh, I'm sure it's much more than three. What disturbs me most though is something he said that night before he disappeared in the courtyard. " He frowned into his teacup and Alfred waited.

"Master Wayne?"

"He said that he was so glad to see me on the job or as he put it 'being a good little bat boy' because Gotham would soon learn some lessons in good old-fashioned anarchy. And then he started that wild cackling laughter that will just about convince anyone he's crazy."

"Are you convinced that he's crazy, Sir?"

'I am convinced he needs to be stopped." Bruce moved his bishop on a short diagonal towards Alfred's army. "I believe that if anyone could bring anarchy to Gotham, it's that man."

"And that would answer the question of the Batman's retirement. And the lack of Miss Dawes at tea time." Alfred surmised neatly, capturing Bruce's bishop just as neatly.

Despite the somber conversation, Bruce's serious mouth cracked into an amused grin as he looked at the board in wonder. "You always kick my ass at this, don't you?"

"Chess is a game that demands strategy, Sir. But, if you don't mind me saying, you do tend to over think things at times. And that's when you leave yourself vulnerable. More decisive moves with a little less detective work, will help in future I'm sure. Spontaneity will be rewarded."

"You _**have **_been talking to Rachel."

* * *

Across the city, a black cargo van was leaving the Narrows, Charlie driving with the Joker up front with him, as jumpy and excited as a little kid on the way to the amusement park.

Charlie had learned from someone who worked at a pizza joint in Gotham that the Armory staff got paid on Thursdays and every payday afternoon, the personnel knocked off work for a poker game in the main hall and ordered pizza. This was the best time to catch the place off guard and let the Joker go on a shopping spree. Charlie had relied on this first hand information to help the Boss plan the heist. He was hoping silently that the delivery guy had his facts straight and that nothing had come up in the meantime to alter that very dependable timetable.

The van slowed at a corner just enough to allow young leather-jacketed and rain-soaked Freddy jump in the side door to make it a trio. Spazz had gone ahead in another, inconspicuous cube van, parked on the street behind. At this very moment he was on the roof of the building, taking care of the alarm system and watching for their arrival. Midget was parked in the Humvee a few blocks from the Armory waiting for precisely five o'clock when he would begin his drive to deliver the blast that Gotham wouldn't be able to ignore.

Joker cackled at the dark-haired young man's drenched appearance.

"What – did you forget your bumbershoot there my good man?" He asked in a hilarious British falsetto.

Freddy laughed and settled into a seat behind Charlie who was driving and glancing around for any sign of being followed, squinting through the silver sheet of rain bathing the windshield faster than the wipers could push it away.

The Joker was in full regalia, new purple suit, stark white mask of war paint, eyes sparkling in blackened pits, and when he bestowed a scarlet grin on the new young henchman, in this light, Freddy noticed for the first time just how stained that grin was and how distorted the flesh was around the scars all painted up for maximum effect. The young man stared at the man called the Joker in awe and met Charlie's eyes in the rear view mirror for a few seconds. Charlie recognized that look of idol worship he had seen so often in the new recruits. The air seemed to crackle around the Joker like an electrostatic field of frenzy that excited everyone and everything in his orbit. The man was his own planet with his own gravitational pull.

The Joker produced a CD from a deep coat pocket and pulled a magenta glove off one hand with his tainted teeth to load it into the CD player. He pushed play and the van was flooded with the opening strains of The Cult's "She Sells Sanctuary." The Joker coiled his lanky frame around the opening bars in a semblance of a serpentine dance and then immediately leapt into the song on the downbeat, jumping in time, in his seat and playing the drums on the dash board and on his pinstriped knees with his hands. Freddy nodded along and even Charlie, as concentrated as he was, felt his head start to bob along to the tune that soared and rocked like an anthem.

He looked over at the Boss and thought for a moment of the very deluded dark-haired lady back at the tenement; the one who only hours ago had argued so passionately that the Joker wasn't crazy. Charlie wondered what her opinion would be if she could see him now – nightmare features obscured by an undulating viel of wild greasy green hair tossed to the music and playing air drums like one possessed on his way to an eagerly anticipated bloodbath. Super sane – his ass. Super _**nuts**_ was more like it.

Charlie found the Joker's and the new henchman's devil may care attitude to this operation more than annoying. Oh, it was fine for those two; they had no one else in the world to worry about. But Charlie had Leo to think about because the boy's mother was useless. He hoped he could stay alive through one more of these fiascoes so he could spend a little more time grooming the boy for a life in Gotham. A life in the Joker's town. That kid needed street smarts and fast. And Cha Cha – well, she needed more shoes.

* * *

At the Armory, it was nearing four o'clock and Private First Class Janice Minsky was alone in the tiny room at the front of the two century old stone structure, acting as receptionist and look-out for upper brass while the 'guys' indulged themselves in their regular weekly poker game in the main hall. To say she was pissed was an understatement. She had not endured boot camp and years of proving herself in a man's world to be designated the 'girl' on paydays so the boys could play without being disturbed. She felt like a damn wife or something. This was getting old very fast. She half-heartedly entertained the idea of exposing all of them to their superior officer who spent Thursday afternoons at his mistress's apartment across town. She had enough information to bring the whole thing down, every last one of them. But, for now, she looked for the phone number of Gotham's Great Pizza. She had the usual order to place for the cretans who made her life so miserable and her career a joke.

* * *

Outside, a block away and rounding the corner of Perth and Manhattan Streets, the music had stopped abruptly in the van and the Joker was handing a glock to young Freddy who accepted it with the enthusiasm of someone being handed an academy award. He took the numerous clips from the Boss eagerly and stuffed his pockets. The Joker hefted his sawed off shotgun and as the van stopped moving just in front of the tall, spear-tipped iron gates, he gave orders.

"When you shoot, it's to kill. These are soldiers and this is a war. Follow my lead and don't fuck up." He followed this little speech with a gleeful grin that made Charlie make the sign of the cross. Joker shot him a look of despair.

"You just creep me out when you do that." He said in a low, disgusted tone. "You and Connie."

* * *

At the same time, in a hair salon called Crowning Glory, Connie Maloney, proprietor and hair stylist, worked on one of her favourite clients, Justine Lutz. Justine was noticing Connie's demeanor this rainy afternoon and after several minutes of watching her carefully and noting something amiss, she felt close enough to the young blonde woman to inquire.

"Connie, honey, what's up with you? You lost your sparkle girl. You are one tiny breath from suicide sad. Man trouble again?"

The tall blonde stopped back-combing for a minute and touched her own shoulder length teased flip hairstyle with bangs that would have looked right at home in on Carnaby Street circa 1967, and sighed; her wide cornflower blue eyes tearing up a little as she prepared to unburden her aching soul.

"Oh Justine, he's just been so distant. Disappeared, really. I haven't heard anything from my J in over two weeks. I keep wondering what I did wrong. I miss him like crazy. He's everything, you know? I've told you about him. When he's gone, I could crawl in a hole, pull the hole in after me, and just die."

"Well, you haven't dished too much on him. He sounds like sort of a mystery man, your J."

"I know. I'm sorry but it's the work he does. It's real secret and real important and I can't say much about him except that I love him more than …." She seemed stuck for words. Justine tried to help.

"Is it a John and Yoko kind of love or more like a Richard Burton and Liz Taylor type of thing?" She communicated in terms Connie could understand, being steeped in her world of vintage culture that reeked of incense, Woodstock and psychedelic go-go boots.

"Oh, definitely John and Yoko. It's for life. I'd die for him. I'll die without him."

"Girl, you just sound determined to _**die**_, that's all. And no man's worth that. Not even your J."

"But you don't know him." The first tear broke loose and rolled down Connie's heavily blushed cheek and her perfect little white teeth, as perfect as chiclets, with the little space between the front two, bit down on her lower candy cane glossed lip, determined to get a grip. "If you met him, you'd understand. He's amazing. Unique. He's my J. Oh ... maybe like Ryan O'Neal and Ali McGraw in that movie where she gets really pale and dies…that kind of love."

Connie couldn't tell Justine that the Joker had robbed her shop one night several months ago. He had only taken hair colour products and some make-up and ignored the money in the till. He left behind a Joker card along with a spazzy little note written in lipstick and eye shadow, with the cutest little drawings, thanking the owner of the establishment for the loan. He had signed it … The Joker. She felt violated, of course, that he had broken into her humble little shop but the fact he left the money, untouched, intrigued her. Seeing him on a newscast intrigued her more so that she spent weeks doing her own detective work around the Narrows, frequenting bars and the seedier spots in back alleys until she finally met up with someone who knew someone who could get a note to him. She wrote him a letter inviting him to come by on a particular night so she could thank him for not robbing her. Imagine her surprise when he showed up, curious to see who had the nerve to invite him over for a chat. It didn't take ten minutes for her to fall completely for him and they broke about three, maybe four commandments that very night. Let them make a movie about that. It was just as romantic as that other one…what was the name ...

Justine was older than Connie so it didn't take her long to come up with the answer.

"Honey, I think that movie is called _Love Story_."

"Because it _**is **_a love story." Connie agreed passionately and then picked up the rat tail comb again, determined to get through another day without him if she had to. "And J and me – we're a love story too."

"Except he hasn't called." Justine thought a little morsel of reality might not be a bad idea given Connie's unfamiliarity with the concept.

Connie frowned and narrowed her eyes, her circular back-combing action getting a little - bit - _aggressive_. Justine was having second thoughts about that reality thing.

"Connie, honey, I'm sure he'll call soon. It seems to me he's your man, all said and done."

The blonde's features relaxed and her eyes widened again like dreamland, soothed by that promise. She would go to church again tonight, light another candle and pray to the Blessed Virgin to deliver him to her soon. If not, she would find Charlie again and tie his balls in a knot until he told her where she could find her man.

* * *

"What are you waiting for, hmmm? Those gates aren't going to open themselves." Joker waved his shot gun at the impressive twelve foot high barricade from his perch in the front seat. "Get a little closer to the intercom."

Charlie moved the vehicle ahead a little so the Joker could access the intercom buzzer and speaker on his side of the van. The madman moved the barrel of the shotgun out the window and used it to push the button. The speaker crackled to life.

"Ah…yeah?" A very bored female voice greeted him in a decidedly non-military manner.

The Joker cleared his throat with a purple glove curled against his mouth politely and then he spoke up in a spacey, west coast surfer voice that seemed to be coming from anyone but him.

"Ah yeah, I got the pizzas here, dude. Like I gotta bring 'em in so we can settle up the cash and I can make it to next delivery in twenty or less or it's free and it can't be free cause that comes outa my ass and I got weed to buy, you know, dude? "

Freddy snuffled back a laugh at the performance and Charlie shushed him with a stern look in the rear view mirror.

"You're fast." Her voice continued on bored and distracted. "I barely got done putting in the order. Did you _**beam**_ yourself over here or what?"

"Ah … yeah." The Joker started to laugh in a snorting, adolescent hicuppy way that sent Freddy to the floor trying to subdue his giggling. "We have … ah… _**ties**_….to the Enter_**prise**_." He recited the last sentence like a poem because it rhymed and Charlie put his head down against the steering wheel in exasperation.

The disembodied voice came back with a bored sigh.

"You just gotta say no to drugs, man."

"Yeah, well, dude, you … you just gotta say no to … ah … these pies are chillin' fast in the rain, dude."

There was a short silence and then the buzzer sounded to signal that the gate was opening. This was met by a wild whoop from the Joker who jumped around in his seat, biting his lower lip, trying to contain the mirth that pooled in his chest and rose up in waves of merriment.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go." He mumbled excitedly as the iron gates moved slowly on their creaky hinges and Charlie stepped on the gas as soon as there was space enough to get through. It was a short drive across the gravel yard to the front doors where they came to a sudden stop, throwing stones up in a spray.

There was a brief pause in the downpour just as they jumped out and Charlie led the way, rifle in his right hand, the butt braced against his shoulder, his eyes roving around, watching. The Joker was right behind, straightening his tie and pulling the lower corners of his vest down to remove the creases from sitting. He shook his head to toss his unruly hair back from his snowy brow and cocked the sawed off gun so it was ready for action. Freddy brought up the rear, glock in his hand, pointed down, shoulders hiked up, ready for anything.

Charlie approached the double doors and leaned on the latch that was unlocked and gave way. The Joker and Freddy scrambled through with him and once the front hallway was scanned and found empty, the Joker moved in front of Charlie and led them up the passage to the right, where they knew they would find the female belonging to the voice on the intercom.

* * *

Claire's fingers danced across the keyboard as she worked in a frantic attempt to keep her mind off of what he might be doing at that moment. She placed an order to sell her Yen for British Pounds and then moved the proceeds into Euros to buy Swiss Francs. All the while, she would glance up at the screen and see the tab she had opened for GCN. She could glance in anytime she wanted to see the headlines. She dreaded what she might see. In the back of her mind, she hoped that something would hold him back and foil his plan; the weather, or some fact coming to light that would make it impossible for him to go through with it. Something, anything, to keep him from courting disaster today.

For better or worse, she felt that her fate was tied up with his now. Whatever befell him affected her because the connection, the bond, was one that couldn't be broken by rationalizing or moralizing or judging. It was too late for all of that now.

The last half hour had taken her to a place she had never been, emotionally. She was terrified for someone else. She was ready to do just about anything to keep him safe. Her good sense, in short supply at the best of times, was drizzling away like the rain outside down the gutters.

She should get up now, log off his computer, grab her handbag and get the hell out of there. Even he would not be surprised by that. She should get a plane ticket and go back to England and try to live the rest of her days separate from all the calamity and chaos that he was sure to bring into her previously peaceful, but flat out boring existence. She was reasonably sure he would never follow her across the pond. She just wasn't that important to him in his grand scheme. She was a momentary detour and a side project. He'd get over it in as long as it took to bed any of the more than willing women on the periphery of his life in Gotham. She was completely replaceable.

No, that wasn't the problem. He would be fine. It was her. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to get over it – get over _him_. An uncomfortable reality was beginning to make itself known to her in the way her heart raced and how her nerves got all tangled up like barbed wire, painful to suffer, when she thought about him out there, in danger. Her protectiveness and desire to spare him any kind of hurt, was bringing home the profound truth in all of this for her. She cared for him more than anyone else in her life. He was dearer to her than she was to herself. Her fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. She lowered her hands to her stomach that was tight and burning, registering her mental pain in physical terms.

If he was out there now, exercising his agenda of anarchy, people were going to get hurt and some were going to get killed. She should care about that. She should be outraged by the thought, and disgusted, but all she could think about was him. She didn't know those other people. She couldn't care about strangers. She only cared about him. If they all had to die to keep him safe, then that's what she wanted and she knew this made her bad by society's standards. So be it. What had society ever done for her or him? She didn't know what had happened to him, in Arkham and before, but whatever it was had been nightmarish enough to leave him physically and emotionally scarred. Society had allowed a brilliant, sensitive young man to transform into a living, breathing, one man revolution against everything it stood for. And now they would have to deal with him.

She was startled by her own voice as she heard the worried mantra spoken aloud.

"Keep him safe. Keep him safe. Keep him safe."


	21. Chapter 21 Anarchy 101 Part Two

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty-One_

"_Anarchy 101 - Part Two"_

The Joker stood around the corner of the doorway to the small office at the front of the Armory, with Charlie and Freddy crouched along the wall behind him. He watched the lone occupant of the room, a woman, in camo jacket and pants, early thirties, with reddish brown hair in a severe bun, looking bored beyond comprehension, tapping a neatly trimmed nail on the edge of her desk as she stared at a computer screen where the Joker recognized the home page of the United States government. This woman took her job way too seriously.

Freddy and Charlie had both donned full balaclava ski masks on their way down the hall. Two sets of eyes gave each other a quizzical look, like _when_? When are we going to get this show on the road? Charlie just rolled his eyes towards the taller man, the Boss, who was biding his time before acknowledging his presence.

The woman stopped looking at the screen and looked up and towards the doorway, expectantly. She had already mentally calculated how long it took a guy to walk from the front entrance to the office to make the pizza delivery. Had that idiot gotten lost? Being that he sounded like he had a deficiency of brain cells due to his obvious habit, he may have gotten lost in the hallway, even though there was a large sign with a gigantic arrow pointing him in the right direction. She sighed and rolled her eyes, completely fed up with the day, the week, her life.

"Are you out there? Lost? I'll get in serious crap if I leave my station, you moron!" She hollered out to the unseen delivery boy, ready to resign from this job, this city, her life.

The Joker found her exasperation amusing and his shoulders started to shake as barely muffled giggling erupted. Still, he stayed around the corner, out of sight. This was too much fun. Charlie and Freddy followed suit and remained where they were, waiting for the Boss to give a signal or lead the way. Freddy straightened up from his lean against the wall and hefted the glock in his hand. He watched the Joker with rapt attention, taking in every detail.

Charlie, having been in the Joker's employment for much longer, knew by now, that the Joker was a planner in the larger scheme of things but when it got down to the execution, the details, he liked to improvise and keep it fresh. It was exactly this unpredictable aspect of his behavior that made hanging with him both exciting and exceedingly dangerous. Loose cannon didn't even begin to describe what this man was in the heat of an operation like this one. It was almost like he had to be amused and entertained while he was interacting with his victims; like a cat toying with his prey before ripping out the throat.

Janice didn't yet realize that she had become a mouse. She looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath to contain her ferocious temper.

"Hello? Dipshit? Can't you follow an arrow?" And then she mumbled to herself. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Do you kiss your mommy with that mouth?" Joker stepped into view, shotgun aimed, grinning widely, putting the scars to maximum effect. He chuckled, delighted, as the blood drained from her pleasant face and she froze in her office chair, eyes wide, mouth open, intended come-back evaporating somewhere in her fright-addled brain.

"What's up, buttercup?" Joker moved in closer as Charlie and Freddy took up the rear. "Nothing to say there… uh …. Janice?" He read the name tag neatly pinned to her military issue jacket.

"Oh my God." She croaked out, confronted by the very tall, imposing purple suited, green-haired psychopath just feet away from her. In quiet horror, she took note of his pasty white mask, blackened eye sockets and garishly red painted mouth that extended, unnaturally, too far in either direction. The gun was actually less threatening compared to his appearance. Her chest started to heave as her breathing accelerated. She raised her hands up slightly, then back down, and then back up, confused, wondering what to do, now that she was in the company of the Joker of Gotham.

"That's right." Joker cooed to her, nodding at her hands rising in the air. "Just give it up, sister." He glanced at the glassed in cases on the walls behind her, containing a display of weaponry. This was the right place.

"So, I was in the neighbourhood," he continued talking casually, cordially, "and in the market for oh, let's see …a bazooka. And maybe some body armour, ammo, AK47's, flame throwers, grenades – smoke and the boom boom type. My pantry's a bit low on supplies." He nodded at her to indicate she understood the reason for his unannounced visit. She followed suit and nodded back, still silent, frozen in position.

"You have keys to all supply rooms?" Joker tilted his head at her in a hopeful manner.

"I…I…I…do." She stammered, glancing to a drawer in the desk to her left.

'Oh perrrrfect." Joker purred as he tilted the tip of the sawed-off shotgun to the drawer. "Time to go shopping. Where are the guys? Playing poker? Am I right?"

Janice nodded again. She wasn't about to put her life in danger by trying to lie or cover for those schmucks.

Joker smiled. "And they didn't think to include the one wearing panties, hmmmm?"

"No." Janice finally spoke. Her tone was firmer than her demeanour would have suggested.

"Well, I hope they ate their wheaties this morning. They have a lot of lifting and carrying to do. Now, you grab the keys very slowly there, Janice. Keep your pretty little paws where I can see them and you won't get them shot off." He smiled widely, getting a little closer.

Just at that moment, another door, opposite to the one they had entered by, opened. A soldier came into the room without looking up as he turned to close it behind him. He was mumbling something to Janice about whether she had ordered the pizza yet and where was the bottle of tequila stashed. He stopped talking abruptly when Joker moved up behind him and clasped him around the upper body, pinning his arms and showing him the shotgun. Charlie immediately moved in front of the soldier who was about his own height, with buzzed black hair and an arrogant chin. Freddy moved in and trained the glock on Janice.

The soldier could not see who was holding him. He looked at the two armed men with ski masks and tried to tussle with the man holding him but Joker held him tightly with a grip like steel cables and Charlie waggled his gun. The soldier groaned in disgust.

"Oh good move, Janice. How did these guys get in here?"

Janice didn't answer. She watched as the Joker tightened his cinch around the man and lifted the soldier off his feet, spinning him around and landing him in a position in front of Janice and facing the expanse of glass on the cabinets behind her. He waited a moment for the soldier to take in their reflection and let it register who it was standing behind him, holding him in a surprisingly strong backwards, bear hug. The Joker laughed at the look of shock on the soldier's face as he recognized the painted man grinning playfully over his shoulder.

"Shit." The soldier spat it out. The Joker could feel him tense up and begin to resist the hold with everything he had. He was going to be trouble. He started to get vocal again.

"Janice, you do realize that you let a terrorist in here? What the hell were you doing ... your nails?" The derision was evident in the young man's tone. Janice held steady, heart hammering in her ears.

"What's with the tone?" Joker spoke into his ear suggestively. "Did she refuse to blow you before she buffed up your boots and shined up your tags?"

The man grunted and gave a sharp buck but the Joker held on tightly and raised his gun to Charlie and nodded. Charlie nodded back and Joker tossed it to him where he caught it in his free hand, now armed on both sides. He regarding the man in the Joker's grasp calmly, grey eyes roaming from time to time over to Janice who was being watched by Freddy, gun pointed at her heart. For a moment, her eyes flickered over to meet his in the woolen orbits of his black ski mask. They held their gaze for a moment and then he broke it to watch the Boss retrieve his trusty knife from a pocket while still holding the soldier firmly in his grasp. There, in the sound of silence except for heavy fast breathing from Janice and the soldier, they all heard the metallic snit of Cupid's blade making an appearance. Still holding him from behind, the Joker placed the flat of the slotted blade against the man's chin and moved in again to speak into his ear, in a dull flat tone.

"Well, here's the question, G. I. Joe. Are you ready to take some orders from your, oh-so-obvious ….. superior? Or, are you gonna fuck it all up for yourself and otherssssss."

The soldier sneered at him in the reflection in the glass and took a moment to answer. Charlie sighed and kept both guns ready. If he could write a little book for potential victims of the Joker, the first chapter would be, "How to Talk to the Psychopath". In it, he would explain that it was best to either keep silent and obey or …. banter, if you were clever enough to keep up with him. The Joker liked being amused. It would buy you some time. Maybe even your life. But this guy, this no neck military minion, wouldn't follow the advice even if he read it. He was an alpha male, just like the Boss, but failed to recognize one thing. The Joker was a very twisted little fucker. He didn't meet challenge with enthusiasm. He met it with boredom. A bored Joker was the deadliest kind.

"I won't take orders …. from _**you**_." He barked the last word to make his point.

The point of the blade in Joker's hand drifted lower, around the soldier's pounding jugular. Joker rolled his brown eyes. Bad sign, thought Charlie. He relaxed his vigilance just a little because this was going to end soon. He looked back over at Janice, who stared back at him. He smiled under the balaclava, forgetting that she could see his mouth. He thought he actually saw her blush. She was behaving. She was smart. She was … damn pretty. He hoped Freddy didn't have a nervous trigger finger.

After sighing heavily, expressing his displeasure, the Joker looked at the ceiling and murmured to himself, 'What to do…..what to do…what to…look. We're on a bit of a tight schedule here, right?" He looked at Charlie who nodded. "Since you don't want to join my squad, I'm gonna have to give you an early discharge." Charlie did some quick mental calculations and stepped back a little to put some distance between him and the doomed man.

The soldier frowned. Janice frowned. Freddy frowned. What did that mean?

Joker felt the soldier's body relax just a bit as he reacted to the confusion of the statement. It was easy to reach up, grasp his chin to hold him steady as he zipped Cupid cleanly and deeply across the man's throat, stepping back quickly to avoid any spray of blood that might sully his new duds. Charlie had estimated the spurt of blood fairly accurately as it fell short of his combat boots by several inches. Joker let the man drop like a sodden heap of dirty laundry. The sound of his bones and skull meeting the floor was a little off-putting.

"Holy shit!" Freddy registered his first, in person, kill, in wide-eyed amazement, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be watching Janice.

Janice gaped in what looked like a silent scream. She got up, out of her chair and moved into the far corner of the room, her hands up around her face, eyes transfixed on the heap on the floor that used to be her brother-in-arms, a still object now, in an ever widening pool of dark arterial blood.

Joker stooped to wipe his knife off on the man's shoulder and then stepped around the blood and body and moved to where Janice was cowering in the corner. He reached out and grasped her wrist, bringing her arm down as she pulled back from him, her other hand over her mouth, eyes wild with panic.

"Come along my little pony. I haven't got all day. Grab the keys, Toots, we're going shoppin'. We just have to drop into the poker game, first."

She continued to resist but he was much stronger and pulled her hard so that she lost her footing and ended up being caught in his firm grasp from behind, much like the one he had used on her now dead comrade. His knife was still out and ready. Her eyes followed the blade like it was a hot flame, about to burn her. She moved around and Joker pulled her in against him with an overly aggressive jerk that seemed to make his point. She got very still and compliant.

Joker glanced over at Charlie who was watching his every move with the woman. The Joker hadn't been too busy in the last few minutes to miss the little glances between the two of them, in spite of the situation. It was funny how danger could ratchet up the tension between the sexes and sometimes, in a good way. He could sense Charlie's apprehension about how he was handling this particular little soldier. Well, well. Things were getting interesting.

"You know what?" Joker said conversationally.

"What?" Charlie didn't bother pointing either weapon at Janice. She was clearly subdued.

"Give me my gun back." Joker pushed the lever to close Cupid and dropped the knife in his pocket. Charlie hesitated. Joker blinked impatiently. "I want you to take her for me. You need a free hand for this little buckaroo."

Charlie considered it for a second and then tossed the sawed off shotgun back to Joker as the woman was pushed toward him, and he caught her firmly with his free arm, feeling her hard little body, trembling with fear and shock, as she eased into his embrace. To be sure he had her, he put the rifle on the desk for a moment while he reached into the back pocket of his camo pants and retrieved a plastic lock tie that they used instead of cuffs. She fought him only slightly as he pulled her hands behind her back and wrapped them in the band to secure her. He spoke to her quietly. "It's okay. You'll be alright." She relaxed as he retrieved his weapon and grasped her tethered hands, ready to walk with her just ahead of him, in his grip. He was just a little taller than she. He noticed the coppery highlights in her hair and the way some stray hairs had made their way free of the bun. It looked like it was very long iwhen it was down. She had a graceful neck. A ballerina neck.

Joker surveyed the little show of domination and smacked his lips while he rummaged in the drawer and fished out a large ring with keys. He held them up for Janice and gave them a shake. His expression asked the question and she nodded that he had what he wanted.

"Okay Charlie, you, Miss Militia, and I are headed for the hall. Freddy, go out to the gate and wait for the pizza. I'm starving. If the delivery guy looks able-bodied, bring him to the party. We need all the strong backs we can get to help load that truck." He looked at the wall clock. "Spazz should be out back with the van in about twenty minutes. "

"Right Boss." Freddy left to follow orders.

"I hope you didn't order anchovies, did ya Janice? I hate fish on my pie."

She didn't answer right away but Charlie gave her hands a little tug to get her attention.

"No anchovies. " She didn't look at the Joker when she spoke. She looked over her shoulder at Charlie. He smiled at her again. Her mouth relaxed and her hazel eyes lost a little of their terror. She could just make out some longish brown hair peaking out of the balaclava. He had kind eyes, despite the company he was keeping. And his voice was deep, velvety and soothing, given the circumstances.

"Good girl." He whispered to her and they both heard the Joker clear his throat in an obvious, may-I have-your-attention kind of way. They both looked at him.

"Look, Janice. Sweetheart. I wouldn't wriggle around too much over there. This guy hasn't gotten any at home in quite a while, if you catch my drift? I can't be responsible." He tried to look serious and sad.

Charlie looked at the Joker and even with the mask, it was obvious he was unsettled by the accusation. His eyes stared at the Boss in an incredulous way. "What? No."

"Oh, you know I'm right." Joker rolled his eyes for maximum dramatic effect. "A guy can tell."

Janice looked at her feet. She felt like she was intruding on some guy thing that shouldn't be for her ears. The situation was getting more ridiculous by the minute.

"Anyway." Joker sighed, satisfied with his contribution to Charlie's embarrassment and Janice's complete discomfort. Things were going well. "We gotta trot. I've got time for a couple hands of Texas Hold'Em All Hostage if we hurry. Follow me."

* * *

In the Narrows, at the tenement, Claire held a chess piece, the white knight, in her hand and worried it with her fingers as she sat by the fourth floor window in the room that used to be her prison, and looked across the Narrows toward Gotham proper. Her instincts told her that he would be in the heart of the city if it was something important he was up to. The Narrows didn't even register crime anymore. It was business as usual in this dark, damp, decrepit place. Yet this building, abandoned, except for him and her, most of the time, felt like home now. She didn't miss anything about her apartment. She had everything she wanted or needed right here.

She sighed and examined the piece in her hand and found traces of his war paint in the grooves of the horse's mane. She thought of his long graceful fingers, usually stained with white, black and red as she gripped the knight tightly in her fist and lifted it to her forehead in an insane attempt to channel him; to locate him, with her frazzled mind.

This was agony; the waiting, the worry, and the fear. Something was becoming more and more clear to her as she fought the urge to run into the street and hail the next cab to go back to her life and avoid the possibility of dealing with his death or his hurt. The fact was this. She was in love with him. And it wasn't anything ordinary. This was something all consuming. It had the potential to destroy her. And she wanted him to know. Even though he didn't believe in it and he would explain it away as hormones or whatever else his clever brain could conjure up as an excuse for her very human emotion.

She acknowledged to herself that there was no future for them, in a conventional sense. As he had pointed out, quite reasonably, his future was limited due to his status as a wanted man and a target for retribution. He didn't need anyone. Their worlds could never meld. She couldn't live in his world, and he wouldn't want her to. He despised everything about her world and she was beginning to understand why.

All they had was now and a little over another week together and then she would be leaving his world and returning to her former life. Yet, it was important to her that he know that she loved him, body and soul, and that nothing he could ever do would change that. She began to feel a vague panic settle in. She could handle just about anything except the possibility that he might die before she could tell him.

She made a pact with herself at that moment. If she was lucky enough to have him returned to her, safe and sound, after today, she would declare herself to him. He would laugh at her and she certainly didn't expect any such sentiment reflected back. She knew he wouldn't know how. She was quite possibly the only one who understood that he was too damaged to return the sentiment and she could forgive him for it. It didn't matter. She just wanted to love him, simply and unconditionally. This was her mission now. She hoped that if she made this promise to whatever forces were in charge of the universe, that she would be rewarded with his return. And she would never let him out of her sight again without a farewell that included that declaration.

He was alone in the world as was she. She was one of the few, maybe the only one left, who knew him before whatever events took place to allow the Joker to take over. She had had the privilege to watch him demonstrate love earlier, before it became a ridiculous concept for him. He had shown it toward his mother, that poor doomed woman. She had even been jealous of a dying woman because she had his heart so completely. She remembered hearing, later, from a fairly reliable source, that Jack had climbed into the bed with his mother and held her when she passed. That boy was still in the man. He could remember it, she was sure. He just didn't know how to process the emotions any more. That part of him was broken.

She felt her throat aching with the urge to cry but it had been a decade or more since she had been able to shed actual tears. She smiled ruefully at the realization that she understood his damage because she was damaged herself. But not so broken that she could not feel this absolute love for him. She wasn't sure when it had happened or if it had never really gone away. She brought the knight to her lips and kissed it softly as she murmured.

"My strange, beautiful boy. Stay safe. I need to tell you."

* * *

From his perch on top of the three storey Armory, Spazz could see quite a distance, despite the fact that his glasses were wet and foggy. He was soaked to the skin from the downpour but felt exhilarated that so far, his contribution to this little heist, was a success. He hadn't heard any alarms sounding as he watched his buddy, Freddy, enter the Armory with the Joker and Charlie. Spazz looked across the square in front of the Armory and could just make out the Humvee, parked about four blocks away. Man, were the Gothamites ever going to be shaken right out of their ordinary Thursday afternoon when Midget drove that hummer right up to the front door and pushed the detonator to start the countdown on one of Freddy's finely crafted explosives. Something about being part of a thing this big, with the Joker, no less, made him feel important for the first time in his very limited life experience.

Once people realized he was more than just a nerd, an electronic geek, a joke, he might finally get some respect, some cred, maybe even get laid, finally. He checked his plaid flannel shirt pocket, the one without the protector, for the keys to the cube van. He looked down into the square again to see Freddy heading for the front gate, alone. There was a pizza delivery car pulling up. Okay, that was weird. But, then, this was the Joker's operation. Weird was a given from all that he had heard. He was cold, wet and hungry. He made for the rooftop doorway to move down to street level to get ready for the pick-up and maybe grab a slice of Gotham's Good Pizza.

Over on Cicero, Midget sat in the Humvee, blinded all around by rain on the windows. He didn't bother to turn on the wipers or the radio. He was afraid of all the buttons on the dash in case he accidentally detonated the bomb located under his seat in a very sinister black box. He had instructions seared onto his brain in easy-to-follow steps outlined by the Boss.

At precisely five o'clock, he was to drive the Hummer over to the Armory, slowly and with care, enter through the open front gate across the square and park as close to the front entrance as he could get. He went over what the Joker had told him, hand on his shoulder, looking seriously into his eyes, as though his safety was of utmost importance in this matter.

"Once you push the button, Midget, you'll have a full three minutes to exit and put some distance between you and the smoking black hole. We'll have you covered from afar. Charlie has a scope. He'll be watching out for you to get clear." With that, Joker had patted the side of his face, like a fond brother or uncle. "There's a lotta money in this one for you, Midge (first time he ever called him that)." It was reassuring. Sort of.

What was most reassuring though was the Joker's promise that after this operation, Midget was going back to the kitchen full time. That suited him fine. He liked cooking, especially Italian. He would get up a feast that would impress even the Joker tomorrow night. Eggplant Parmesan was what he had in mind. With his special meat sauce, of course, cause the Joker was not a veggie. He may even make a special dessert for the Boss's lady of the moment. English trifle. Make her feel at home. Try to get into the Joker's good graces again by treating the little Brit to one of her homeland's delicacies.

Midget shifted ever so slightly in his seat and looked at his watch. Less than an hour to go. The rain was letting up, He could see through the windows again. He could see the Armory's rooftop. They would be in there by now. The lack of sirens in the area was a very good thing.

"It's gonna be fine." Midget breathed out a sigh, setting his mind to the task ahead and thinking. "After this, I'll be back in his fold. He'll trust me again."

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Added December 18, 2010: I know I haven't added anything for a while. The story is not dead. It will resume in January, if anyone is interested. I had taken a break and did not intend for it to go so long. The characters are still very, very alive for me and they will return to continue their story. Thanks to everyone who has been stopping by to read and re-read. Shout out to Golden Ray. See you soon with a new chapter and then the story should flow along again without any major hiccups. _**


	22. Chapter 22  Jokers Are Wild

_**Author's Note: I do apologize for the delay in continuing this story. Back on track now. Next chapter will not take long to appear. Thank you for your patience and loyalty.**_

_**I do want to apologize ahead of time to anyone who has any loved one in the armed forces. I do not mean to denigrate the military or take lightly the wars currently being waged. This is fiction and is not meant to offend. If the current military/political state of the world is a source of anxiety for anyone, you should skip this part of the story. **_

_**Also, as an aside, some may find my use of British spelling distracting. I'm Canadian and this is how I was educated. I have tried to revert to American spelling but it's just too much work. It makes my brain hurt.**_

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

"_Jokers Are Wild"_

Five soldiers sat around a beat-up wooden table in the main hall of the Gotham City Armory, reserved for their regular Thursday afternoon poker games. It was against regulations but no one had ever come down on them about it. Their commanding officer, McLean, was away at his usual Thursday afternoon tryst so there was no danger of being reported. Even if McLean ever found out, the soldiers - Privates Elwood, Lasky, Tucker, Casey, Ashcroft and Stevens (where _**was**_ Stevens, anyhow?) – they all knew about their superior's afternoon dalliances and would trade keeping that information from his wife in exchange for being let off easy. It was black-mail but it would work. So, everyone was relaxed and the money was building in the centre of the table as they waited for Stevens to get back with the booze and for the pizza to arrive.

"Where's Stevens?" Casey spoke up as he lit a cigarette, also against regulations. "He's been gone a long time. We can't play this hand until he gets back." He nodded at the empty chair,

"Maybe he's banging Janice up front. He's been trying to for months now." Tucker speculated and everyone laughed a low, dirty chuckle.

"Nah." Lasky shuffled the cards over and over again as they waited. "Janice doesn't put out. She's still hung up on her fiancé."

"The one that got spread all over the desert?" Casey smiled, finding the idea humourous despite the fact that any one of them could meet the same fate in a few months, when they were deployed.

"She still wears his tags along with hers. She's in _**mourning**_." Elwood feigned an exaggerated pout that set the rest off laughing again. "I think her knees are crazy glued together - ain't opening for anybody, anymore."

"Well, I'm going to take a shot at it. " Ashcroft spoke up, crossing his arms across an impressive chest, and setting a determined jaw. "I asked her out to see a movie on Saturday."

"What did she say?" the other four stumbled over each other, asking at once, amazed at his initiative.

"Well, she said 'no'…." The laughter started but Ashcroft spoke louder, drowning them out. "But I'm not done asking. I'll get her to give in and then I'll report back." The laughter grew louder just as the double doors to the hall were kicked open violently and the Joker moved into the hall, a sawed off shot-gun held at his hip, trained on all of them, the barrel circling from one to the next, to the next as he approached from about twenty feet away.

"Deal me in boys. Jokers are wild…..of course." He grinned, eyes glittering playfully, in the black pits. His kinky hair, despite being rained on earlier, was looking static and stood out in a frenzied green halo around his parchment white face, as though picking up an electric charge from some unknown source. The blood red mouth, the twisted scars, the ochre stained teeth, impressive height and bizarre clothing all completed the picture of a nightmare come true before their eyes.

The five men began to make movements to get up from their chairs but Joker raised the shotgun casually toward the ceiling and fired off an ear-splitting shot that echoed in the rafters of the large room. The men fell back in their chairs and didn't move. That was when they noticed another man, face partially concealed by a black ski mask, enter the room, pushing Janice ahead of him. Her hands were tethered and she was looking pale and frightened. Soldier or not, it was clear she had just been through a life-threatening experience with these two thugs. The Joker's henchman aimed a Magnum around the table as if to underline his Boss' promise to shoot if orders weren't followed.

The Joker began to stalk around the table, pausing at each man, who flinched when the demented clown lunged in, invading personal space and challenging them with eye contact that was difficult to maintain due to the laser like intensity. A strange wave of heat emanated from his person as he continued to circle them like a native performing a slow dance around a bonfire. The Joker emitted an odour either from his clothing or his body that was incendiary, like solvents and explosives. It just added to the very uneasy feeling that everything was about to ignite.

He picked up the lit cigarette in the ashtray and put it in his mouth, taking a puff, as though tasting one for the first time. He coughed violently, dropped it on the floor and ground it out with the sole of his much worn shoe. Then he stood up, full height and glowered down at them.

"So, who is ready to help me with my shopping list?" His tone was darkly teasing, taunting. "It's not a long list, mind you, but the items are heavy. And time is short so we have to skedaddle if we're going to get everything out to the waiting truck in time." He looked at each of them, cocking an eyebrow, waiting ...

Ashcroft looked past the Joker for a moment to Janice who was looking at the floor as the henchman kept hold of the band that held her hands together behind her back. She looked only a little disheveled and compliant. He dared to speak.

"Janice, where's Stevens?"

Janice looked up for a moment and opened her mouth, bottom lip quivering, as though to speak but was cut off by the Joker as he barked sharply.

"Don't speak to her. You speak to _**me**_." The Joker pointed his rifle barrel at Ashcroft and swirled it around a little to make his point. The soldier did not repeat his question, so Joker did it for him. "Where's Stevens? Was that your question, hmmmm?" He feigned a helpful tone and cocked his head to the side as though in sympathy. "Would Stevens be about five eleven, black buzz cut, chin like Dudley Do Right, blue eyes?" He waited. Ashcroft nodded.

The Joker looked up for a moment as though recalling. "Oh, he's in the pool."

All the men looked up now and then at each other in confusion. Casey spoke up. "What pool? There's no pool."

"Oh, that would be … the pool … of his own blood-d." Joker lingered on the last word for effect and the men stared back at him and then all five looked over at Janice as though she should explain further.

Joker continued to remind them of their manners.

"Don't look at her. She didn't do it. Stevens refused to help. Which reminds me, which of you boys is ready to lend a hand to the big bad criminal? See, I've got a bad back." He reached behind him with his free hand and pressed into the small of his back, grimacing in a parody of pain. " I've been overdoing it a little in the loooove department." The men all looked back at him now in wonder. "Or is that a little bit, ah, TMI?" Joker winced as if to apologize for his lack of discretion.

Janice thought she heard Charlie stifle a laugh and looked over at him. He looked back, mouth definitely twisted on half a grin. He shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate he wasn't responsible for what came out of the Boss's scarred mouth. Then he took a step closer and whispered, glancing a little behind her at her hands. "Is that thing too tight?"

She shook her head that it wasn't. He nodded, satisfied, but didn't move away again. His arm brushed her shoulder. She didn't recoil. Somehow, for some crazy reason, even with the gun firmly in his hand, he made her feel safer.

"You know, you all asked about Stevens but I haven't heard any one of you future heroes request that I let the lady go." The Joker nodded over at Janice who was paying close attention now to what was being said. "Is chivalry dead, gentle men?"

"_**Will **_you let her go?" Ashcroft took the bait.

"Of course not." Joker answered flatly and Janice bowed her head. "But it's nice that you asked."

"Now then." Joker continued as he fished in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, tossing it at Tucker. The soldier caught it and pressed the crinkles out of it on the table in front of him. "It's my list." Joker explained.

"A bazooka?" Tucker exclaimed, looking incredulous. "You got balls."

"Last time I checked." Joker grinned. "And if you wanna keep yours, you'll all come along with us and load up everything on that list and maybe a few extra little baubles I see along the way – I just _**love **_new things." He gushed like a girl buying shoes. The men all looked at each other but no one spoke up.

The Joker looked at the clock and tapped his foot impatiently. "What's it going to be boys? Are we goin' shoppin' or what?"

"Well, count me out." Tucker sat back in his chair, sounding resolved, but the way his chest heaved with this breath, it was clear he was expecting anything.

"One down, four to go." The Joker looked at the other men and squinted at the name tags affixed to their khaki shirts. "Asscock?"

"It's Ashcroft." The soldier said quietly and then more forcefully. "I'm not helping." He looked across at Tucker and they nodded at each other grimly.

"Pals, eh?" Joker surveyed the two men in a bored fashion and then mostly under his breath. "How touching."

Casey, Elwood, and Lasky were avoiding each others' gaze as they mulled it over in silence.

"The truck should be pulling up right about now," Joker looked at the wall clock. "Should I do a countdown? Hmmm? Ten, nine, eight…"

"I'll help." Casey said quickly. Then he looked at the other four men and explained. "It's not worth dying for. Just to make a point. You can't make a point with this guy anyway. He's nuts."

"You can't reason with the insane." Elwood agreed, putting a fine point on it.

"Pardon me. I am standing right here. I can hear you." Joker told him, pretending to be shocked and offended. Surprisingly, they ignored him while they continued their discussion. Joker leaned in, watching and listening with interest.

"Well, Casey's right." Lasky spoke up. "You could be dead if you don't and dead if you do. He's not going to care one way or the other."

"He has a point." Joker interjected, shaking his head enthusiastically. They all looked at him and he just smiled mildly at their dilemma. Then he pointed to the clock again. "Tick tock, boys…tick…tock."

"I'm not aiding and abetting a terrorist." Tucker was firm.

"Terrorist?" Joker frowned with interest. "That's the second time I've been called that today. Have I been promoted? Did I miss the ceremony? Charlie, why didn't you tell me that I'm now a terrorist as opposed to just a run of the mill thug or criminal?"

"I meant to, Boss. Must have slipped my mind." Charlie replied casually, playing along and Janice looked at him, wondering how he could be so relaxed in this lunatic's presence. It was clear they knew each other well. She wondered if Charlie was his real name. Probably not.

"Okay, let's take stock here, shall we?" Joker stood up again and pointed the gun around to each man as he considered them. "Tucker is out, apparently, because I'm a terrorist. Yay, me! Casey, Elwood and Lasky are in because I'm nuts. That leaves… Asscock."

Ashcroft closed his eyes to his name being deliberately mispronounced again. He took a deep breath and then made his final decision.

"I'm definitely out. "

"That's it then." Joker declared and he waved the gun at Casey, Elwood and Lasky. "You, you and you – stand up – hands up where we can see them and move over into the corner by the door. Charlie and I have you in our sights so do not move too quickly."

Just at that moment, one side of the double doors opened and a man in his forties, wearing jeans and a green nylon jacket that sported the words "Gotham's Great Pizza" in yellow lettering over the left side, entered. He looked confused, hands on his prematurely balding head, followed closely by Freddy who carried several flat pizza boxes on one arm and held the glock in his other hand as he watched his hostage carefully.

"Pie!" Joker exclaimed. "And you brought another helper." Joker was not one to praise any of his employees in front of the others, but the tone of his voice conveyed that he was impressed that Freddy had managed to apprehend the delivery driver.

"His name is Chuck." Freddy said casually. "We were talking on the way here. He tried to run away but I convinced him to stay and help out. Right, Chuck?"

The unfortunate man couldn't answer. The colour had drained from his face and his mouth had dried up like a dust bunny in the Sahara at the sight of the Joker not five feet away, shotgun in his hand, trained on the two soldiers still seated at the table.

* * *

Claire had given up on working or reading or gazing out the windows. She needed to get her mind off of what might be happening to him. She had been working in the room he called his office, at his computer. There wasn't much there of interest but she knew his sleeping quarters were right across the hall. He had invited her there once and she had declined. She really needed a distraction to relieve her worry and her curiosity was peaked and she had the place to herself so she could explore his world a little more. She stopped for a moment to consider how her snooping might upset him but told herself that if he had left the door unlocked, knowing full well she had an impulse control problem, and enough curiosity to kill a few dozen cats, then he was asking for it.

She moved out into the hall and around the staircase to the other side of the third floor. It was eerie to be in this huge building all alone. She remembered his instructions that if he wasn't back by around seven thirty in the evening, she should go home. She had hours left. It was barely three forty-five. She moved towards his door and touched the knob, giving it a twist. It was open.

Even though it was daylight outside, the tenement was rather dark due to the condition of the windows which were mostly boarded over so that it felt like evening already when she flicked the light on as she entered his bedroom.

There was nothing on the walls. The room was a perfect copy of hers above but looked more lived in. His bed was king size with no head board but a perfusion of pillows stacked against the wall, making it look rather cozy and it was made up neatly, which surprised her. He had pulled a straight back chair over beside the bed to serve as a table to hold a reading lamp. There were two bureaus for clothes, and a couple of armchairs that were littered with suspenders and cast off shirts, vests and several pairs of shoes lying about the dusty carpet beside the bed. And books, everywhere. She picked one up from the floor by the bed and noticed it was "Modern Chess Openings" by Griffith. She smiled. She must be more challenging to him at the game than she thought because he was studying her one strength – openings. She wondered if she should start studying up on endgames to give her an edge when playing him. Another book, on the bed was "The Behavioural Genetics of Psychopathology". He was checking into the odds as to whether or not his offspring, should there be any, would become like him.

Claire sat down on the bed and flipped through the chapter listing and something about him reading up on a condition he had no hand in creating, yet condemning him to so much less than he could have had, had he been well, caused a lump to form in her throat. She was overcome with a sadness that made her eyes sting. She dropped the book on the floor and reached for a pillow, drawing in the scent of him as she hugged it against her. She waited a moment and then pushed it out of her mind.

She got up and walked over to investigate the state of his closet, pulling the door open and being greeting by a neat row of suits and pants lined up in orderly fashion. The shelf above the clothes rail held an old shoe box. She stretched up and got hold of it, bringing it down for inspection. Opening the lift off top, she was greeted with dozens and dozens, maybe hundreds, of packaged condoms. He was a careful boy - and a busy boy - as it appeared that he bought in bulk. Something about the idea of him putting these to use, knowing he would never have to use one with her, made her feel a little ill. Jealousy was, after all, a sickness. It was something she knew he would never tolerate from any woman, herself included. So, she pushed that out of her mind as well and went to inspect the contents of his bureaus.

As she made her way through the room, she noticed a litter of what looked like candy bar wrappers discarded on the top of the bureaus, the floor and the beside chair/table. She picked a few up to investigate. He didn't seem to have a favourite. He liked variety. But it appeared he definitely had a sweet tooth. Which would account for the fact her nose always detected something sugary in his personal scent.

Other items that caught her attention were several decks of cards, a paddle with a rubber ball attached by a stretchy string, like a child would use, and an assortment of pads of paper with doodles and designs that looked like stick people with random words scribbled here and there. This didn't seem overly strange to her since she was a compulsive doodler herself, but it did seem to indicate a mind that ran in many different directions at once, on overdrive. It's like he had ADD. The sugar fueled it. She shook her head and whispered in an exasperated tone. "Oh, Jack."

The drawers were stuffed with blue jeans, mostly very worn to the point of sporting holes and frayed hems. He seemed to favour relaxed fit, button fly. Sweatshirts, socks, many colourful and several pair of the favoured argyle. But, oddly, no underwear. None. She smiled at this. She loved the idea of him being so dressed up most of the time, taking the time with ties and vests and his pocket watch and being naked as the day he was born in his fine, expensive, trousers.

In the second bureau, top drawer, she noticed a brown paper bag, crumpled, under a pile of suspenders. She picked it up and looked inside. It was stuffed with money. Large denomination bills, perhaps several thousand all together. She put it back hastily, piling the suspenders back on top as she found it. She couldn't afford to wonder where it came from. There were some things she was better off not knowing if she was to remain dedicated to being his friend and not his enemy.

She headed toward the bathroom. There was a small metal table beside the sink filled with his pots of paint. She studied them, seeing swirls of finger prints in the different colours adorning the lids of the black, the white and the red. Inside the medicine cabinet, there were packets of semi-permanent green hair dye and some envelopes of what looked to be lime-flavoured drink powders, like Kool-Aid. There was a safety razor, shaving cream, a half-used jar of his beloved Pomade and a small bottle of some kind of clear oil, like mineral oil, its use a mystery for now. There were further signs of paint on the taps, the mirrored door and in the sink. It seemed to get on everything.

There was a standing shower but what caught her eye was an impressive claw footed bathtub that sat in the far corner of the room. It was antique, with brass feet cast in the shape of lion paws and the original brass taps. It was deep and in great shape, despite some chips in the porcelain, given its obvious age. She wondered if it actually still worked. She grasped the brass tap marked "H" and gave it a crank to open it. The tap squealed a little upon opening, shuddered, and then spluttered some rusty water before rewarding her with a clean stream of gradually warmer water that splashed down to begin to fill the tub. She turned it off and sat on the edge of the tub, making a mental list of things to do. When he came back, if he would let her, she would scrub him clean right here in this tub, washing away the grime and the crime.

* * *

Bruce Wayne had lost one game and won one game of chess to Alfred before finally excusing himself to go and check on his surveillance of the city and make plans for his nightly rounds.

While his relationship to the GPD and Chief Gordon, in particular, was not exactly adversarial, the police had never granted him the access he needed to feel he was in touch with the main problem areas in the Narrows or Gotham proper. He was not allowed to tap into their surveillance systems or read official police documents, other than the ones that Gordon gave to him personally, and in complete peril of losing his job.

So, with so much technology and funds at his disposal, Wayne had simply set up his own system of surveillance around the city completely independent and unknown to GPD. He must be breaking privacy laws but this was not a concern in his mind which neatly compartmentalized his activity as the Batman as being outside the laws of mainstream society. His parents had died in an alley, after all, as a direct result of the police department allowing criminals to gain the upper hand in Gotham. Their laws had failed him and his family and were nothing more than an annoyance and a web of red tape to work around.

Sitting in front of his console of computer screens that monitored activity around Gotham, he spidered his hand through his well-groomed, dark locks, as he stared at one article that had grabbed his attention this week, nearly buried on page five.

"Missing Hummer Reported by the Gotham City Armory."

The Armory had managed to "misplace" a humvee. No word had been reported that it was ever recovered and there were no clues as to how it disappeared or who could have made off with it.

Bruce keyed up the code for the Armory surveillance cameras he had installed across the road from the entrance. He had to squint a bit due to rain spattered lenses but could see that everything looked normal aside from a pizza delivery truck parked inside the front gates near the front stone stepped entrance. He watched for a moment and then flipped over to the Narrows to check out a bridge where he had seen some activity a few nights ago. The Russian mob maybe conducting a drug deal. He was sure he had seen someone go over the railing of that bridge and into the murky depths, but checking later, he had found no evidence that could lead him to anyone. He panned in and out for about ten minutes, watching, and then gave up as Alfred found him in his study.

"Could I coax you into a third game, Sir? To break the tie?" Alfred offered, along with a fresh cup of tea.

"Anything to lure me away from my work." Bruce smiled, taking the tea, and Alfred shook his head.

"No, no, Sir. Not at all. It's just I do like to declare a definite winner in a match. Leaving it like this is rather unsettling."

* * *

"Okay, Charlie." The Joker was eager now to get this operation moving to its completion. "You tie those two to their chairs and I'll take that little soldier off your hands for a few minutes."

Joker moved over to where Charlie was holding Janice firmly by her tethered wrists and nodded at him to move off. "Tie them up tight. Hands and feet."

As Charlie moved away, looking a little dubious as he let go of Janice, he tucked his gun into one pocket while he retrieved plastic zip lock ties from the other.

Janice's eyes watched him, silently pleading with him not to hand her over to the scarred psychopath. She was about to object verbally when the Joker grasped her wrists tightly and then sidled up to her, taking up personal space, grinning down at her from slightly behind and above. She ventured one look back and took in the horror show of blacked out eyes and bloody mouth and scars up close, and felt faint. The heat his body radiated so close was stifling and she could smell the grease paint, making her stomach lurch.

"If ya feel something hard digging into your hip there, cupcake….." He purred in her ear. "Well, it's just my gun."

Charlie divided his attention between his job of securing Ashcroft and Tucker to their chairs and watching Joker who was sniffing Janice's hair. It was an odd habit of his. He could not get close to a woman, any woman, without sniffing her hair. He wondered if it was intentional; an intimidation tactic. Most women cringed at the behavior. But there were a few in whom it seemed to awaken something quite the opposite of revulsion. Janice cringed. He worked fast so he could get back to her.

Joker aimed his shotgun at the men at the table as Charlie tied their hands together behind the back of the chairs and their feet to the legs – pulling the ties overly tight. Too tight bindings or loss of circulation were the least of their problems. Freddy kept an eye on Chuck, the pizza guy, and laid the boxes of pizza on a chair by the door. The fragrance of pepperoni and cheese was wafting through the room.

"You married Janice?" Joker asked like it was a cocktail party. He tugged on her wrists when she didn't answer. "Am I talking to myself here?"

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I'm not married and no, you're not talking to yourself." She spoke like she was winded after a marathon as the fear this man generated was causing her to start to tremble.

"Hear that Charlie?" Joker looked over at his cohort. "She's … oh pardon me. I forgot, Charlie. _**You're **_married. Well, isn't fate a bitch?"

Charlie took in the jibe silently, recognizing the Joker's attempt to bait him, to have some fun. It pissed him off. Right at that moment Tucker decided to start mouthing at him, challenging him.

"You guys will never get away with…"

Charlie grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the table in front of him, breaking his nose. The crack was heard around the room and Janice gasped at the bloody evidence when Charlie pulled Tucker back up by the hair to a sitting position. "Shut the fuck up." Charlie's comment could have been directed at Tucker or the Joker. But since the Joker would never believe anyone would ever talk back, he was safe.

Joker started to giggle low in his chest and broke out in a few peels of crazed laughter that made Janice's stomach sicken. It was true. This man was insane. They were all going to die.

Charlie walked backwards, gun out again, watching the three soldiers huddled in the corner, their "helpers", as he moved back over to where Joker was talking in low tones to Janice.

"It's the scars, isn't it? Wanna know how I got 'em?"

"Boss."

Joker looked at him, clearly annoyed he had interrupted. "What?"

"Clock." Charlie nodded at the wall clock, reminding him that time was flying. Spazz would be bringing the truck around and there was a major explosion waiting to happen on schedule once Midget arrived in the hummer.

"Oh, you're right. I'm sorry, Janice. The story will have to keep for another time." He pushed her roughly to Charlie who caught her, resuming control.

"Let's move it out boys." The Joker moved into commanding mode again. "Freddy goes ahead with Chuck. Gimme some pizza by the way, I'm starving, and the three stooges, followed by Charlie and his girlfriend, and I'll …" He stopped as the procession was lining up and all turned to see what was delaying their departure.

The Joker had turned toward the table where Tucker and Ashcroft sat forlornly, Tucker bleeding profusely from the nose that Charlie had mashed on the tabletop. Still the two felt rather fortunate that they were being left behind. It was only a matter of time before McLean returned and rescued them from their restraints.

The Joker moved closer and studied the cards on the table and the money in the middle, piled up from the interrupted poker game.

"Forgive my manners." The Joker frowned at them, putting the hand without a gun to his heart like he was sincerely sorry about something. "I asked to be dealt in. I said jokers were wild. But… I completely forgot to ante up." He pushed his hand inside his coat and felt around for a moment. Everyone waited. Charlie looked at Janice and shook his head in answer to the question her eyes were asking. Joker had his own script that he made up as he went along. It was impossible to anticipate what he was up to.

The Joker's purple gloved hand emerged from his coat holding a grenade. He wrinkled his nose in a coy little grin as he brought the weapon to his mouth to work the pin out with his teeth and then non-chalantly tossed the grenade which landed atop the pile of bills on the table, and where it was met with two pairs of horrified eyes. He spit the pin across the room. "That oughta cover it."

When he turned to leave, he chuckled when he realized that everyone else had departed in somewhat of a hurry. But he took his time sauntering to the double doors as Tucker and Ashcroft screamed curses at him and scraped chair legs against the floor as they attempted feebly to put some distance between themselves and the grenade on the table. He heard both chairs topple over before he closed the doors behind him and felt the concussion from the blast that pushed him a few feet against the opposite wall. He shook it off, straightened his jacket and tie and then went to find the rest of the gang and do some shopping.

* * *

"Alright, Alfred." Bruce finally gave in, still scrolling through surveillance cameras around the city and jotting down his agenda for the evening. That bridge in the Narrows was on his radar now. Better check the streets feeding to it for any places that could be connected to mob activity. "One more game before supper." He went to get up to go back to the room where the chess board was set up.

"No need to move, Sir." Alfred was accommodating as usual. "I'll go fetch the board. We can play here."

However, when Alfred returned to the study, Bruce had left. While it wasn't odd for him to simply change plans and leave without explanation, Alfred was still intrigued. He looked around for a clue when his attention was drawn to the surveillance camera to the far right where it was paused on a frame. Alfred leaned in closer to be sure.

The caption on the bottom of the screen was "Armory – rear entrance – Torrent Avenue." Even in the grainy black and white, it was clear now what, or rather _**who**_, had caused Bruce to disappear so suddenly. The figure standing on the loading gate of the truck backed up to the building was becoming far too familiar to both of them. The Joker stood with a sawed off shotgun in one hand, pointed at figures loading boxes, and in the other hand he held a strange triangular object.

Alfred pushed a key that panned in and he stared, unable to believe what he saw. He was holding a piece of what looked like pizza, with a bite out of it.

The elderly butler looked out the window at the day that was still light. The Batman had never gone out before dark. But this was the Joker. This was the man who had been tormenting Bruce to the point of near obsession lately. There was a first time for everything.


	23. Chapter 23 The Big Bang

**This chapter is dedicated to Laloga who gave me a friendly nudge to get back to work on this story. Thanks, kiddo! Reviews mean so much. Please do take a moment to comment. Even just a few words. It can make all the difference. **

**I hope you enjoy. It's long ... sorry.**

The Endgame

Chapter Twenty-Three

"The Big Bang"

Since the tumbler was "in the shop" being outfitted with new communication gear, and might draw too much attention in the daytime, the Batman opted for the black Lamborghini with tinted windows to make his way to the Armory. His plan was to leave the car outside the grounds and proceed on foot to find a way in to confront the Joker and his men.

He didn't bother alerting the GCPD yet to his discovery of the Joker's presence in the heart of the city's military stockpile. He had learned from previous incidents that the men in blue were not always Gotham's best defense. Sure, they were quick to illuminate the night sky with the bat signal when they needed his expertise, but too often, the Batman found himself at odds with their ham-handed ways of going by the book and choosing cold logic over common sense. No, he would assess the situation first, alone, and then call on them when the time was right for the police to get involved. He wanted the Joker to himself – with a real chance of apprehending the man and sending him back to Arkham, where he was convinced he belonged. The police did not understand a mind like the Joker's. He could not be approached or apprehended like a common criminal. The Joker was a study in psychological warfare and embodied the cold-blooded, keen intellect of a true psychopath.

He sped over the bridge that spanned the Sprang River, on his way into the heart of Gotham. Under the armor and cowl, he felt a shiver run the length of his well muscled frame. He knew it wasn't the damp of the rainy afternoon that caused it but rather the anticipation of facing the painted demon who would not obey, would not submit and who would not be intimidated by forces that could easily take him out. The Joker was a stranger to fear of any kind. And it was just this fact that made him both dangerous and intriguing. Sure, you could explain it away as part of the man's tenuous grip on sanity but the Batman sensed something more. It wasn't exactly a death wish but more of an acceptance of his self-appointed martyrdom for his irrational "cause" – sort of a kamikaze clown.

There were definite disadvantages to being out in daylight, even on a murky, rainy day like today. He could not use surprise to any great advantage and his black armor was not a cover as it would be at night. He frowned as it occurred to him, for the hundredth time, that the Joker seemed to go against all logic when it came to his appearance when he executed his crimes. Far from trying to blend in or camouflage himself, he instead chose to paint himself up like a theatrical nightmare, his identity completely centre stage; a sick type of performance art.

The communication device in the centre of the steering wheel crackled to life as Alfred's voice spoke to him.

"Sir, have the authorities been alerted? I saw the surveillance. I know your destination."

"Not yet, Alfred. I'll take care of it at the right time."

There was a pause. He could detect the sigh before his elderly butler and best friend spoke again, resigned.

"Take care, Sir. This man isn't all there. It's a fact that should not be forgotten."

"Point taken, Alfred. I'm nearly there. We'll play that third game later." He referred to the game of chess that had been interrupted by Joker's appearance on surveillance.

"I count on it, sir."

Then Alfred was gone and the Batman checked his bearings. City Hall flew by on the right as he was coming up to Armory Boulevard just west of where it merged into a triangular intersection with Cicero and Torrent. In the delta, sat the Armory.

Behind the Armory, at the loading dock, Elwood, Lasky, Casey and Chuck the pizza delivery guy, moved heavy boxes of weaponry and ammunition along with pallets full of containers of gun powder and other incendiaries into the backed up cube van. They used their back and some wheeled carts to keep it moving along under the watchful eye of the Joker.

Joker had finished his pizza and was busy supervising their progress as he moved inside the van, checking the boxes as they were piled neatly into place. He read the contents and chuckled with glee at the mother lode of weapons he was adding to his already impressive stash of military gear.

"Where's the bazooka?" He asked Casey as the reluctantly helpful soldier pushed a wooden box of concussion grenades into place on top of a container of gun powder. Joker poked him in the shoulder with the butt of his shotgun to encourage a reply.

"It's coming. Lasky's bringing it out." Casey wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and tried to avoid eye contact with the mad man.

"And the missiles? The ammo?"

"Coming too." Casey turned and walked back to the tail gate and onto the loading dock, where Freddy waited to escort him back for the next load under his watchful eye and ready glock.

Spazz had been sent back to the rooftop as lookout. Charlie was on the loading dock too but he was assigned to Janice, who was sitting down beside the exit doors of the dock, hands still bound behind her back. She crossed her legs and sat quietly, watching the procession of her fellow soldiers as they helped the Joker pull off this amazingly bold heist.

Charlie watched all the activity and shouted to the boss.

"Want me to help out in there?"

Joker moved to the back of the van and looked out at him. Then at Janice. And then back at Charlie. He smacked his lips and shook his head.

"No. You watch her. Cause you're gonna do that anyway. You're no good to me when you're distracted." Then he moved a little closer to deliver his next order. "And she's coming with us on the way out of here. You never know when we might need a hostage. Until we're in the clear, she'll be with us."

Janice heard him clearly and looked up at Charlie who was leaning against the dock's doorway, his handgun held casually, like an afterthought. He looked back at her, his gray eyes turned serious in the holes of the ski mask covering his identity.

Joker smiled at the conflict that registered in Charlie's body language. He straightened up from the lean, and tossed and caught his weapon in his hand like a fresh resolve. But who was he getting ready to defend? The Joker loved to watch people in a dilemma. He felt it brought out the best or the worst - the only two worthwhile options.

In Charlie's mind, no harm would come to this young woman. He couldn't understand the bond he had felt with her instantly, but he didn't have to understand it to know that if the Joker pressed him in the direction of causing harm to Janice, he would take him out, no questions asked. He had defended this man in peril of his own life on many occasions but this time, it was different. Janice would get to sleep, safe, in her own bed, at the end of the day. He would make sure of that.

"Charlie!" Joker barked to get his attention.

"What."

"Get her on her feet. We need to be ready to go."

Charlie's mouth worked into a twist like he was going to say something but then he just leaned over and grasped Janice by the arm, urging her to her feet, where she stood beside him shakily. Her hair was tumbling out of its tight bun and fell in rivulets of wavy golden red over her shoulders. She looked at the Joker and then stepped back as though simple eye contact with the lunatic could cause physical harm.

"Why do I have to go along?" She said quietly to Charlie as Joker got distracted by the appearance of the coveted bazooka being brought out onto the loading dock.

"It's okay." Charlie told her in a low voice. "It's just protocol." He used military language to make it seem harmless, like a drill. " Everything will be fine. It'll soon be over." He looked at her now and saw how her chest heaved with her accelerated breathing and how her eyes darted around like an animal being stalked. "I promise."

For a moment, she looked at his gun and then over to the Joker who was affectionately petting the box holding the bazooka as two soldiers moved it gingerly into the van. She looked at the gun again and then at Charllie. She was a soldier after all. It occurred to Charlie that she was either silently suggesting that he turn on his boss or that if she had the chance, if her hands were freed, she would surely use the weapon on the Joker, herself.

'He wouldn't hesitate to kill you." She spoke just loud enough for Charlie to hear. "He has no loyalty. He's insane. It would be like putting down a rabid dog." There was no doubt now what she was suggesting. He could feel her gaze but couldn't look at her.

"It hasn't come to that … yet." He explained calmly. He finally looked at her. "Trust me."

They studied each other's eyes for a moment, two strangers with an unspoken and irrational attraction. He still had her by the upper arm, but his hand lost its authoritative grip and slid down to her elbow where he squeezed in a more benign way, suggesting something else. She put her head down for a moment and then brought it back up to look at him again. This time, her eyes were clear and completely calm.

"I trust you."

The rain was starting again, just light, but enough to obscure vision and distract as it soaked through clothing, plastered hair and made things slippery. From the rooftop just above them came an excited shout. It was Spazz.

"The Batman! He's here! "

Everyone stopped and froze as the Joker moved to the van's tail gate and looked up through the rain at the young man above on the roof.

"Spazz, clean your glasses. The Bat does not go out during the day. You saw a mirage. Get a grip man!" He started to giggle at the idea of the Bat out in broad daylight in his get-up. It tickled him to no end.

"No, I saw him. Around the front. Then he disappeared. I swear. Can I come down now?" Spazz looked around him worriedly. "He's here - somewhere."

Joker's eyes narrowed as he looked around and then over at Charlie who was still looking up at their nerdy new cohort, clearly freaked out by something he saw or thought he saw.

"Charlie – tell him about the Bat, will you? I'm too busy." He turned around, dismissing himself from the conversation, and motioned with the shotgun for the soldiers to continue their stacking and packing.

Charlie cleared his throat and shouted up to Spazz. "It's true! The Bat's nocturnal. He does not come out in daylight. Never has. Never….."

Spazz seemed to be caught up in a length of cable that came from nowhere and he was yanked backward, out of sight, from where they watched below. Janice drew in her breath sharply. "What was that?"

"Ah, Boss …. Boss!" Charlie shouted and pulled Janice quickly along with him, pushing her into the back of the van. Joker was busy poking Casey who wasn't moving fast enough for him.

"What is it nooooow?" He used his nasally, slightly pissed off, tone.

"There _**is**_ someone on the roof. He just lassoed Spazz."

"Hmmm?" Joker turned quickly and pushed past Charlie, out onto the tail gate and looked up. "You think?" He looked at his henchman quizzically. "Could it beeeeee?"

Both Charlie and Freddy aimed their weapons upward as they waited for a sign.

"No, no, no." The Joker grabbed Charlie's hand to bring it down and glared at Freddy. "Don't waste the ammo boys. If it's him. That's Kevlar. Remember? Ricochet? It's how I caught a bullet in the stomach last time, hmmm? You know I don't mind dying but not from something as dumb as that. I have _**some**_ pride."

The incident the Joker referred to happened just before Charlie entered his employment but he heard about the bullet that went astray, and the wound that would have killed any ordinary man. It was true. Their bullets couldn't penetrate the Batman's armor.

There was a sudden clap of thunder and as if on cue, the Dark Knight appeared on the edge of the roof, in broad daylight. The rain had turned to a steady sheet that beat down on his tall, menacing black presence adding drama to an already remarkable sight. He gazed down from three stories up, the black cape fluttering around him like tattered raven wings.

He shouted down, his voice full of grit and authority, at the white painted face that gazed up with a mixture of mirth and wonder.

"Your man is tied up. You need to come with me now, Joker. There's a padded cell waiting for you. No-one gets hurt."

"Sorry. I'm busy right now." The Joker offered up before dissolving into peals of raucous laughter. "But, I'm so flattered that you would come out, during the day, in this weather, just for meeeeee."

Joker sidled up to Charlie and gave orders under his breath.

"Get her into the van, up front. Get ready to go."

And then he shouted at Freddy. "Take those men back inside and lock 'em up in the can. It's nearly time for the hummer."

All the while, he kept glancing up at the Bat, ready for the next move, excited by all the possibilities. With eyes averted for a moment, he heard a thud on the top of the cargo van and glanced up again to see that the Batman had left the roof. Just like that.

The Joker jumped down from the loading dock and tossed his shotgun to the pavement with a clatter. He reached into his coat and retrieved one of his larger knives. Guns could not penetrate but knives could find a way through almost anything – especially things with chinks or layers. That was the nature of the Batman's armor. A knife blade could be a threat, even more so in hands as skilled as the Joker's. He moved out in a large circle around the cargo van so he could see the top. He saw a wisp of black cape disappear over the other side. He was truly impressed at how fast the man could move in all that armor. Heart thumping, eyes darting all around in his rain swept vision, the Joker got ready to confront the Bat on level ground. Adrenalin was his friend, keeping him ready and alert.

He saw out the corner of his eye, Freddy emerging from the loading doors, after securing the helpers away in the lavatory in the rear of the building. He strolled into the back of the van and closed the doors behind him, ready to depart. Charlie had already moved into the cab with Janice beside him, waiting for the Joker to join them in the passenger seat so they could leave. The rain was picking up. He turned on the wipers.

"What are you waiting for?" Janice breathed heavily, arms still tethered behind her. The word "hostage" kept echoing in her mind. And the Batman seemed more interested in the Joker than in coming to her rescue.

"I have to wait for him." Charlie explained calmly, as he started the engine.

Still the van didn't move. He looked into the side view mirror where he could see the dark blur of the Batman running around the back of the van as the Joker moved to the front. Charlie rolled the window down.

"He's around the back. Com'on. Jump in. We gotta get out of here."

He was met with crazed laughter as the Joker changed direction and ran out onto the wide paved parade ground surrounding the Armory, the Batman in pursuit. Joker had the advantage when it came to chase. He was quick and light on his feet. The Bat was encumbered by his armor. Still, he had weapons on his person that could take down his prey. Charlie wondered what the Bat had up his sleeve today.

He moved the van out and started to drive between the Batman and the Joker running interference as much as possible as the two came very close, weaving in and out around the slowly moving vehicle. This seemed to amuse the Joker as he dodged between the Dark Knight and the van, only to emerge again in the open and once again, engage the caped crusader in the pursuit. They played this game of cat and mouse like two kids on a playground as the van moved closer to the front of the building where they would exit by the broken gate. Janice toppled over as the van swerved and dodged but Charlie reached over and pulled her upright again. She was beginning to feel sick to her stomach from the day's events and the zig zag motion of the vehicle.

"Why doesn't he just get in?" She asked in wonder.

"He's having fun." Charlie grumbled.

"Leave." She told him urgently. "Just go. The Batman has him. Leave him to the Bat."

Charlie was about to answer when the Joker appeared once more, this time running ahead of the van gripping his right upper arm with his left hand and starting to stumble a little, obviously wounded. Charlie saw the Bat coming around the back of the van again and he let go of the wheel, leaving the van to move along without steering as he climbed over top of a startled Janice and pushed the passenger door open. He regained the wheel and drove close up beside the Joker who finally accepted a ride.

As Charlie slowed down, the winded clown jumped on the running board but had difficulty making an entrance through the open door with one arm. He managed to make it in just as the Bat appeared again, around the front of the vehicle running toward the open door. As the Joker fell onto the passenger seat, Charlie revved the engine and steered the van so that the open door would hit the Bat. But the vigilante was quick enough to drop and roll, avoiding the impact. They continued around the side of the building, making their way to the front.

"Are you hit?" Charlie shouted across Janice to the Joker who was sitting up now. He put his knife back into his coat and inspected his upper arm. He frowned and growled in disgust.

"He ruined my jacket!" He moved his gloved hand over the torn sleeve. "But, wait a minute….." His tone was more excited now than angry.

"Are you shot?" Charlie was confused. He hadn't heard any gunfire.

"What? No." Joker winced for a moment as his used his left hand to grip something imbedded in his right bicep and pulled hard. He held up a sharp, shiny object in his left glove. It was tinged with blood. "What the hell?" He giggled with surprise.

Janice was trying her best to move as close to Charlie as possible and put some distance between her and the Joker. But the cab wasn't large enough and he was right there beside her. Even seated, he was tall and imposing and gave off a tremendous amount of body heat. The energy around him was frenzied electricity. She dared to look at him; weird painted face, messed up from the rain, even rows of stained teeth in that disfigured crimson grin. He held the object out to her and remarked in a conversational tone.

"Well, what'd ya know. The Bat's a goddamn ninja! That's a throwing star, Pussycat. Well, now, no. I stand corrected. It's a throwing _**bat**_. Look, it's shaped like a little bitty bat."

Janice cringed away from him, and looked down at her boots on the floor of the cab. He frowned as though confused by her reluctance to engage him in conversation.

"How bad is it?" Charlie asked as he maneuvered the van around the corner.

"How bad is ….?" The Joker was distracted as he leaned over to sniff Janice's hair.

"Your arm? I see blood. How bad is it. Please don't do that. She's terrified enough."

"Oh, ho, ho." The Joker started a low giggle. "Someone's getting a little bit terri-_**tor**_-rial." He sang the last word and raised his eyebrows at Charlie and then straightened up in his seat, giving Janice her space. "It's not bad. My jacket got the worst of it. Now he owes me a jacket - the little rodent." He huffed his disapproval and looked in the side mirror as the Bat had regained his footing and was starting to run after them. "He's still there."

"I can see him." Charlie looked in his mirror. And just then the sound of sirens welled up in the distance. Janice sat up straighter and looked around out the windows.

"Well, he called the cops." The Joker announced flatly. "Typical."

"Terrific." Charlie groaned in annoyance.

"Where are they?" Janice spoke up, sounding hopeful.

"Too far away to help _**you**_, Honey Bun." The Joker gave her a sickeningly sweet smile that made her stomach clench. She had never been so frightened of another human being.

* * *

Midget was piloting the hummer in the direction of the Armory, as gingerly as a cargo of nitro glycerin, which, in a way, it actually was. He heard the sirens swell in the distance and broke out in a sweat. His orders were clear. Nothing was to distract him from getting this bomb on wheels to the Armory on time. It was bullet proof anyway so if any cops showed up, bullets or no bullets, only a tank could stop him.

He just longed for this day to be over. He would park, push the detonator and then run like he had never run before. With a little luck, he would be successful in getting out of the area without catching a bullet and then after that…..well, after that, he was going to celebrate with a stiff drink and his favourite hooker, already booked for the night.

The Joker had promised him a big payday for this. And the clown was a generous boss when the mood struck him. This could change his prospects considerably. He could finally pay off some gambling debts and get a few collectors out of his hair. Life could be sweet. Life _**would**_ be sweet.

Coming up to the gates, he drove inside just as the white cargo van was coming around the corner of the building, making its way past him as he parked just outside the large double doors of the Armory. The van slowed down as they passed and he made eye contact with the Joker who was in the passenger seat beside a female soldier and Charlie at the wheel. In that instant, it was like time slowed down and lingered on the moment that seemed almost surreal, as the Joker lifted his gloved hand and waved – just the tips of his fingers – a delicate wave - and he read his painted lips as he spoke two words. "Bye. Bye."

Midget thought it was an odd greeting but shook it off and settled in the seat to concentrate on his task. He had three minutes from detonation. No doubt, Charlie was going to park a safe distance and then cover him with his scoped rifle as he abandoned the wired hummer and made it to safety. That was the plan. The Joker had gone over it with him several times, lingering over the details.

The diminutive henchman watched the clock tick down to the minute and then the seconds. Midget took the detonator out of the box and held it in a shaky hand. Five… four… three … two … one. He took a deep breath and pushed the red button, beginning the count down. At the very same moment, he heard a thud on top of the hummer. Strange. But then, the whole day was strange. No time to investigate. He nestled the detonator back into the box and watched as the digital numbers started to fall away backwards from three minutes. He grasped the door handle to exit but the door was locked. Stupid, he thought. I locked myself in. He pushed the lock release and heard a satisfying click. He signed with relief. He was free. He pulled the handle again but nothing happened. He looked across to the other door and saw, with horror, that the lock was still down.

He pushed the release again and again, pulled on the lock that seemed crazy glued in place, and pushed against the door, heaving with his shoulder, as his eyes watched in terror as the numbers fell away, counting closer and closer to certain oblivion if he didn't get out of this truck.

The Joker looked in the side mirror as they were exiting through the gates, expecting to see the Batman following them on foot away from the Armory. Instead he was treated to the spectacle of the Batman standing on top of the hummer. He glanced at the clock in the van console and turned around in his seat. He shouted as he reached across Janice to grab the wheel from Charlie. "Stop! Stop!"

Charlie hit the brakes and looked over at him, confused. "That hummer's gonna blow. We gotta get out of here. "

"Why is he standing there?"

"What?" Charlie looked around to follow his gaze to the Batman, walking around on top of the hummer, getting ready to investigate, no doubt. The Bat had to have his nose in everything. This time, it was going to back fire big time. Charlie smiled. "Bat flakes for breakfast. This is perfect."

"No!" The Joker pushed to open the van door but Charlie had locked them all from the driver's controls. "Open the door, Charlie. Let me out of this thing now!" He commanded. Janice sank to the floor to get away from his frantic pushing and flailing around her at Charlie. The man was going nuts trying to get out.

"Why?" Charlie tired to reason. This was going to be one of those times he would have to save the Joker from himself.

"Open that door now or …. " Janice felt a hand grasp her hair as her head was pulled back painfully and a cold blade was settled against her throat. She could hear the sirens mocking her from their distance. She could feel his heat bearing down on her. Too late. Too late. She closed her eyes. Then she heard a click and the knife was lifted away as the Joker pushed the finally unlocked door open and climbed out of the van.

Charlie pulled her back up onto the seat where she tried to catch her breath from the fright of what seemed like certain execution by the Joker. Charlie pushed her hair back from her face and tried to sooth her as best he could under the circumstances.

"It's okay. You're alright. He's gone. And we're getting out of here."

With that, he hit the accelerator and didn't look back.

* * *

Across town, at the Crowning Glory, Marta Mahoney rushed through the doors of her sister's hair dressing establishment with the news. She practically knocked Connie over as she worked on a customer's comb out. The tall redhead grasped her blonde sister's arm and pulled her frantically with her to the supply closet at the back of the room. She pushed Connie against the shelves and held her by the shoulders.

"It's J."

"What?" Connie's blue eyes got wide. "What's wrong. Where is he?"

"I heard it on the short wave, the citizen band radio." Marta paused a moment to catch her breath before she could continue.

"What? Is he in trouble? Where?" Connie grasped the front of her younger sister's pink shirt, practically lifting her off her feet, desperate for her to continue.

"The police were called to the Armory. The Batman is there. J is there." Marta twirled nervously on the red braid that looped over her shoulder. "Listen, you can hear the sirens."

They both went quiet for a moment and over the 60's surfer music playing on the salon's sound system, and the chatter of patrons out front, they listened to the lilting whine of the sirens not far away, making their way toward the Armory.

"We have to help him, Connie. He must be in terrible trouble."

Connie bit her candy pink glossed lip for a second and then nodded. "Get the car."

* * *

Claire was still in his room. She had lain down on his bed and was reading the book about genetics and psychopathology to distract herself when she thought she heard a sound in the distance. Very far away. The windows were boarded over in these rooms so she made her way down three flights to the kitchen in her bare feet, and opened the back door a crack to listen.

Her stomach lurched. Sirens. Unmistakable. Lots and lots of sirens. They sounded as far away as Gotham proper – probably near the heart of the city, not far from her apartment. It had to be him. They were after him. He was miles away.

She bounded back up the three flights and into his office where the computer was still on. She clicked on the bookmark for GCN and glanced over the home page frantically. There, at the top, in running script, in a red banner …

"Breaking news. GCPD called out to the Gotham City Armory. Heist in progress. Possible hostage situation. The criminal known as The Joker thought to be involved. The vigilante known as the Batman on the scene. Updates to come as this story unfolds. Stay tuned to GCN for further developments."

Claire sat for a moment, staring at the headline, feeling a wave of nausea grip her midriff. She began to hyperventilate, her head started to swim with lack of oxygen. She could hear his voice, in her mind, his cool, calm, command, "Breathe, Claire."

She took a deep breath and steadied her shaking hands on her lap. She felt helpless. There was nothing she could do to protect him. He was out there. He would always be out there. She had to accept that. He courted danger every single day. If she was to stay, if he was to return, and if they had the opportunity to continue what they had started, this was a glimpse into the future. A future caring about a man who didn't care about anything – not even his own life.

She got up on shaky legs and went back down to the kitchen where she turned on the faucet and splashed her face with the cool water. She leaned against the sink and listened again to the sirens a world away. She remembered his advice; to leave if he wasn't back by 7:30. She glanced at the wall clock over the stove. There was still plenty of time.

The part of her that was practical told her that she should leave now. She could go home, back to her life. She could pull the covers up, go to sleep, and then in the morning, she could forget that any of this had ever happened. She could pretend that they had never reunited, never fought, never played chess together again, never laughed until they fell over, and she had never experienced a sexual union with him that paled all others in comparison.

She let out a dry laugh at the realization that it was ridiculous to think that she could really leave. He was the only thing in the world that meant anything to her at all. Their days together were numbered anyway, she reasoned. She was going to have to go back to her life soon, regardless, but not like this. She couldn't leave now. She had to be strong and she had to have faith that he would come back through that door in the next couple of hours. She would not abandon him again. She would be here. She would see to his needs, make him a meal and give him anything he desired long into the night. He was her one good thing. If he let go she could accept it – she was accustomed to loss - but she would not be the one to let go first.

* * *

The Joker had stumbled out of the cargo van and it sped away, leaving him on foot, just inside the gates of the Armory. The Batman hadn't even noticed as he was engrossed in figuring out what was happening to the hummer. It had to be the stolen one. Thing was, the driver was acting very strange. He had obviously locked himself inside and was clearly over-reacting to the situation by heaving against the doors inside and scrambling around like a madman. The Batman looked through the passenger window and tapped on the glass to get his attention. Midget tried to lower the window but the controls didn't respond. It was occurring to him that it was all rigged.

"Get away from there!" He heard the Joker's voice calling and turned around. The criminal was about forty feet away, and his body was partially turned like he was ready to run out of the front gates at any moment.

The Batman ignored him for the moment and pulled on the door handle of the hummer to help the man inside to exit. He was ready to apprehend him as the thief that made off with the military vehicle. On foot, and with the GCPD on their way, the Joker wouldn't get far.

"I said get away from there!" This time the command was more insistent. The Batman turned and looked at the Joker who appeared to be torn between coming closer or running away. The Bat was distracted by the man tapping at him through the window. His face was a mask of terror. The Batman was a detective and something felt strange about this situation.

"It's going to blow!" The Joker yelled from his spot near the gates. "You can't help him!"

With time ticking away, the Joker moved around to shield himself behind the wall by the open gate. He gave one last warning. "No joke!"

The Batman frowned in his direction and then turned back to pull again on the handle, looked at the panicked, trapped man, and then went still for a moment to concentrate. In that stillness he detected a faint ticking emanating from the interior of the truck.

Midget had lost control of bodily functions and soiled himself in pure terror as the realization of what the Joker had done to him was becoming clear. He had been tricked into his own death by the Clown Prince of Crime. As he looked out the window, face to face with the Batman, of **all** people, he saw the grim mouth beneath the cowl mouth the words, "I'm sorry." And then he was gone.

The Batman ran around the wall but the Joker had already left the area. The sirens were bearing down. The Dark Knight was torn between taking off on foot to search for the clown or waiting until he had reinforcements to spread out with a better chance of capture when the world around him exploded. The wall was poor protection and the power of the blast knocked him off his feet. He felt the white heat of the combustion and the concussion in his ears as he stayed on the ground, covering his head from falling debris. His armor protected him from some of the bigger pieces of cement and metal showering down in a cloud of smoke so thick he couldn't get a breath.

* * *

Claire heard the blast in the distance. It was clear to her, even as far away as she was, that it was a huge explosion. She went and sat at the kitchen table and put her head down and covered it with her arms, not wanting to hear anything like that ever again.

"Oh God, no." She whispered in her self-imposed shell. "This is _**not **_happening."

* * *

The GCPD arrived to find the Batman on the ground, covered in debris and a hole blown out, as big and deep as an Olympic size swimming pool, where the front of the Armory used to be. No one knew at this point, who was inside and who had been blown to oblivion, to mingle with the dust and debris littering the area. The shower of debris finally stopped falling as two officers helped the Batman to a sitting position. He was miraculously unhurt, just disoriented and temporarily deafened from the concussion of the blast.

His ears ringing and his throat on fire, he gazed up at Chief Gordon, who was moving his lips but making no sound. All around men in blue reacted with utter confusion and shock as they took in the scope of the damage and possible carnage that had just taken place.

The Batman tried to speak. He didn't realize how loud he was shouting as he couldn't hear himself.

"The Joker! He's on foot! He's moving south I think! Toward the river! We have to capture him! Hostage! White cargo van, license GB4992. It's full of explosives. Do not shoot!"

As an afterthought, as he got to his feet. "One of Joker's men, on the roof, tied up!"

Then they both looked at the fire that had taken over, roaring up into the overcast sky – orange against grey – heat beating down on them. The roof was gone. Only the far rear of the building stood.

Gordon started shouting orders that the Batman could not hear and men scattered in all directions as fire trucks arrived. The Batman just watched, disoriented and confused. There was action and pandemonium all around him but it was a silent movie. Gordon turned back to him.

"You should have called us first. I'm going to have a hell of time defending you this time."

But the Bat didn't hear.

* * *

The Joker was blocks away, winding his way around the back streets, slipping into doorways and ducking behind fences as he moved steadily and surely in the direction of the Narrows, miles away. He knew these streets very well, every abandoned building, back alley and tunnel in the city of Gotham. The rain had stopped for the moment and he pushed his damp mop of green hair away from his brow as he chortled to himself, delighted with the way the ground had trembled beneath his feet when Midget passed into history and the Armory blew skyward. The Batman had gotten far enough away. He had made sure before he left. It wasn't possible for a magnificent creature like the Bat to be taken out with the likes of a low life like Midget. The Batman deserved a better fate. His time would come, just as would his own, but their end had to be better than that. Besides, the Bat was still too much fun. Gotham would be a dull place without his theatrics.

He could hear all the sirens and commotion back at the Armory and as he moved along, it became fainter. People who passed him, the few he could not avoid, were all excited and focused on the explosion. He passed without recognition. The city seemed to be in temporary shock and disbelief and it worked to his advantage as he moved among them, quickly and discretely, his war paint blurred by the rain. He looked away, avoiding eye contact. So far, so good.

He had been moving for about a half hour when he came to the intersection of Cicero and Montgomery. He walked along close to the fences, just off the sidewalk when he heard the screech of car tires and a familiar female voice calling out to him excitedly.

"J! J!"

He looked over at the street and a battered red Chevy had pulled over the curb, the back door open, waiting. The blonde at the wheel waved excitedly while the redhead was in the back, motioning for him to jump in.

"Con! Marty!" Joker skipped over to the car and fell into the back seat in a comical fashion that made Marta scream with laughter as she pounced on him. He pulled the door shut as Connie pulled away, weaving through traffic.

Inside the car, there was a lot of wrestling in the back seat as Marta attempted to hug and kiss him and he fought her off playfully. Connie looked in the rear view mirror at her sister molesting her man.

"Leave him alone, Marta. He hates that stuff."

"You're just jealous." Marta finally sat up and allowed him to come up for air.

The Joker looked around at their bearings and laughed.

"Did you hear that big bang a while ago, girls?"

"Was that you?" Connie turned to look at him as she drove. "We thought it was thunder."

"Nah, it was me."

"Are you okay?" Marta asked him, pawing him again, pressing her hands against his chest, squeezing his thigh. He put his gloved hand on hers to discourage her exuberance. Unknown to him, the blood had been streaming down his arm from the wound and now covered his gloved hand. She looked down at his hand and screamed. "You're bleeding! Connie, he's hurt!"

Connie hit the brakes hard and everyone flew forward. She turned around and climbed over the front seat into the back on the other side of him as he was pulling himself up from the floor.

"Don't stop here!" The Joker looked around, watching for police. The traffic moved around them for the moment but soon they would draw attention. "I'm fine. It's nothing. A flesh wound." He pushed her away harshly.

Connie ignored him, located the rip in his right sleeve and started to pull off his outer jacket. The Joker gave in for the moment while he thought of a plan.

"I swear to God you drive me crazy. You sleep with my sister and then you disappear for weeks and now you go blowing up the city and get yourself hurt. J, you break my heart, you really, really do." She looked into his messy made-up face, and shook her head. "I've missed you so much. I practically died. Let me see." His outer jacket was off now and she was pulling on the lapels of his second jacket where the blood stain was more prominent on pale grey of the upper arm. "J, you've really hurt yourself. I can't stand it. I have a first aid kit in the back. Marta, get out and get it from the trunk."

"Not noooowww!" the Joker pulled away from her as Marta stepped out of the car and moved around the back to open the trunk. "Con, we gotta get out of here. We can deal with this later. I really would rather not end up in custody. It would ruin my day."

"J? Aren't you happy to see me?" Connie bit her lip and looked close to tears. "Where have you been? Why did you do that with Marta? She always has to have what I have. You played right into that. J, I don't understand you. I really, really don't."

He opened his mouth to answer but they were distracted by Marta calling out from where she rummaged in the trunk of the car.

"I don't see any first aid kit!"

Connie sighed in exasperation.

"I swear to God. Sit tight, Honey. I'll be right back." Connie kissed him on the forehead and then stepped out to help her sister locate the first aid kit.

The Joker only took a second to jump over the front seat behind the wheel where a peace sign keychain dangled in the ignition. He pressed the locks and then took off so fast the trunk lid snapped down, nearly taking two sets of fingers with it as the girls jumped back and then stood in the road, stunned, as he sped away into the darkening afternoon.

"Now why would he do that?" Connie put her hands on her hips and stamped a foot. The sisters stood in the road, oblivious to traffic and horns blasting in their direction.

"Because he's done with you, Connie. Admit it. He's been with me and that's how it's going to be. No threesomes. That was a dumb idea, by the way. Just admit he's over you."

"Marta, he left you standing here too or didn't you notice?"

"Fuck you, Connie."

"Oh nice language. Fuck you double, Marta."

* * *

The Joker was on his way. He had wriggled back into his purple overcoat. Windows rolled down, wind in his hair, he giggled to himself as he listened to the reports on the car radio. They were full of hysteria and hyperbole. Apparently the Bat was okay. The front of the Armory was gone. The soldiers that had helped load the van and Chuck the pizza guy had been rescued from the locked lavatory in the back of the building before the fire got them. No word yet on the ones that Joker had disposed of in the rest of the building. Stevens, Elwood, Tucker and Ashcroft. Probably waiting to notify next of kin. Rules, rules and more rules. Also no word on Spazz. It was nearly certain he perished in the explosion, being on the roof that they were reporting had collapsed and burned. Much, much ado about the "hostage", Private, First Class, Janice Minsky. He wondered how Charlie was handling the task of stashing the van and its contents as well as deciding what to do with his little sidekick, Janice. He didn't blame Charlie for taking off. It was only human nature to want to put some distance between yourself and a massive explosion. And he was protecting the girl.

As he roared up Redemption Avenue, he realized that he was probably close to Claire's apartment. He wondered if he would ever spend any time there or if their association would end when she left his world for her own. He liked the pictures Charlie had taken of the rooms, especially the kitchen, with the impressive coffee maker and all the copper pans hanging neatly above the stove. And her work area in the main room, her lair of computers and white boards and graphs and charts. He wondered what kind of chess board she had. He smiled when he thought of her and at the same time, out the corner of his eye, he saw something in a store window that made him hit the brakes and screech to a halt. He backed up slowly to sit in front, car engine idling, his eyes lit up like Christmas.

It was a gift store, already closed for the evening. In the front window, the proprietor had left a display of lava lamps lit as an advertisement. Never could they have realized that such a notorious customer would come calling after hours.

There was one in the center of the window that was like a beacon. It was large and tri-coloured, blue, green and red; the lava pumping in a steady stream of lazy bubbles from bottom to top and top to bottom in that wonderful hypnotic dance. He thought of the lamp back at the tenement, the one that he and Claire had grown fond of, the one she accidentally shot and killed. And he remembered his promise to get her another one.

Joker looked up and down the street. He was in luck. No one around. No doubt everyone was glued to the TV or the computer, following the news. He left the car running as he walked up to the store and rattled the door handle. Yup, it was locked. No problem. He looked around and chose a nice heavy piece of brick littered on the pavement in front. He had forgotten about the shoulder wound. One good heave and he stepped back as the window shattered in a waterfall of glass shards and the alarm began to bleat.

He took his time as he climbed up through the opening into the store. He decided against the one in the window as it would be very hot from running. There was just enough light to spot another lamp, identical to the gem in the window, all boxed up, perfect. He was just turning around after hefting the package onto his shoulder, when he heard car tires squeal and watched as Connie's red chevy took off into the approaching twilight, leaving him, once again, on foot.

"Damn thieves." He mumbled to himself. "This city's getting worse." He smacked his lips in disgust.

He stood there for a moment before stepping down onto the street, shuffling though the pile of broken glass, and then began to walk down the street with his prize, his gift.


	24. Chapter 24 Revelations

_**Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing. Enjoy…**_

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

"_Revelations"_

The Joker entered the tenement through the kitchen door. After putting the heavy box he had carried for miles on the table, he eased himself into a chair. The kitchen was dark except for moonlight but he could read the time on the clock over the stove – 9:32. Over two hours later than their agreed upon time for her departure if he hadn't returned from the day's adventure.

The house was silent except for the clock. He had noticed on his way through the courtyard that the fourth floor, _**her **_floor, was completely dark. Not even a sliver of light coming from the window where he had removed the boards a few evenings before to shed some light on their first intimate encounter.

In the last few hours, he had his stolen car, well, Connie's car, stolen from him; acquired another stolen car from a drive-through where he scared the driver so badly, a guy about his age, that he screamed like a little girl. It didn't take long for that one to get called in because a cop started following him just out of Gotham proper for a few miles until things sped up and a chase took him as far as the tunnel and then he had to double back, ended up back around the Armory where pandemonium continued complete with sirens, fire engines, more cop cars, and in the confusion, the cop lost him. But another picked up on him as he turned around headed back toward his destination – the tenement. In the ensuing chase, he engaged the police cruiser in a fire fight where he managed to put a bullet through the driver's side windshield, but not before his back tire was taken out. He had to abandon that car just before approaching the tunnel again. That's when he decided that walking wasn't such a bad idea. The large box that held the lava lamp was actually a good shield to hold in front as he strolled along, passing citizens, who took no notice. He overheard a lot of chatter of people on their cell phones or talking excitedly to one another about the big explosion at the Armory. No one was interested in a tall, disheveled man, carrying a large box in front of his face; they were only interested in the Joker.

Now that he had managed to arrive at what was still his safe haven, he was a little amazed that he had actually pulled it off.

The fact that the building appeared to be empty aside from himself, didn't surprise him. If his delay in arriving hadn't convinced her to leave, hearing the details of the heist on the radio or watching it on the GCN website, would have convinced her of her folly in thinking she could actually remain in his company.

He looked at the box on the table. His gift for her. He tapped his fingers against the side of the box and smacked his lips in a resigned fashion, possibly a little disappointed in how this had all played out.

"Well," he muttered to himself softly, "it was just a thought."

And that's when he heard the squeak of the ancient wooden boards on the stairs. He waited, in the dark - another one. Someone was trying to sneak down the steps in a stealthy fashion but the cracks and crannies of the old, neglected woodwork was giving them away.

"Who's there?" Her voice came from the staircase in the hallway outside the kitchen. She was being careful. Smart girl. Anyone could have come through that door.

He took the lamp box off the table and stowed it underneath for now. He kept quiet, wondering what she would do next. He felt a giggle gurgling up in his chest but he fought it down. And he couldn't stop smiling. The disappointment had turned to something else. Happiness? Relief?

"I have a gun!" She called out a warning in a strong, steady voice.

"Of course you do, I gave it to you." He finally answered and she poked her head around the corner of the kitchen door. Her expression was difficult to read in the darkness of the room.

He stood up and moved closer. She stood in the doorway now, gun in her hand but with her arm down, pointing at the floor. Her eyes were wide and she stared at him but didn't come closer or say anything. He cocked his head at her in an inquisitive way, trying to understand how he was being received.

Claire felt light-headed . All the way down the three flights of stairs, after she heard someone come in, she had been holding her breath, afraid to hope, to really believe it could be him. Now all she wanted to do was touch him but she had sensed he didn't like a fuss made and besides that, this was the Joker. The war paint was a messy, half-melted version of his usual mask, from rain and sweat and exertion while he was raising hell all afternoon. But it was still the Joker and she couldn't shake her wariness where the Joker was concerned, physically. His clothing was a mess; dirty and disheveled. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, catching the moonlight from the window.

"You waited." He acknowledged her as he wondered what she was thinking now that who he was, what he was, was even more undeniable. "Did you hear? Did you watch the news?"

"I heard the explosion." She said in a rather somber voice. "I saw the news."

Still the space between them remained. He leaned against the counter, catching even more of the silvery light from the window as he raised his right gloved hand to push a few loose strands of his wild hair out of his eyes to get a better look at her. That's when she noticed the blood soaking the glove and the sleeve stained here and there with dark bronze.

"You're hurt." The space between them disappeared as she approached quickly, dropping the gun on the counter and reaching for the light switch, but he brushed her hand away from it.

"No light." He glanced outside warily as she grasped his hand and held it gingerly, feeling up his arm along the stains to the rip near the shoulder. He stood very still, just watching her.

"You caught a bullet." She said breathlessly, grasping his arm gently. "You'll be okay. We'll fix it up." She spoke to him like he was a child and she was reassuring him, taking charge.

He grinned down at her and shook his head.

"No. No bullet. It's a cut, that's all."

"Deep. Must be deep." She started to help him out of his outer coat, not looking directly into his face, pushing against his chest as she opened it. He wrapped his other arm around her firmly and brought her in against him in an embrace, so her face was against his vest. He petted her long dark hair that was loose down her back.

"Shhhh…quiet for a minute." He told her and she went still. Her confusion was causing her some distress. Jack was wounded but the Joker was holding her.

"But you've lost a lot of blood…"

"Shhhh..shhhh..shhhh."

They were quiet for a moment and then she took a deep breath and sighed against his chest as her arms went under the coat and around his slender waist and she relaxed against him, giving into the embrace.

"Let me take care of your arm."

"Why did you wait?"

She tightened her arms around him and looked up at him. "I had to wait and make sure you were okay."

He looked back at her, trying to understand. He had given her a way out of this whole thing; a chance to reconsider, to leave, with no apologies.

She frowned now as something occurred to her.

"Did you want me to leave? Is that why you're late?"

"I'm late because I lost my ride. Charlie took off. I was on foot and then whenever I _had _transportation, I had police on my tail. I drove around in circles, nearly rolled one car just before the tunnel because the cop took my back tire out, and then I walked a hell of a long way. "

She waited.

"And, no." He finally told her. "I didn't want you to leave. I only told you that you should go after 7:30 because I figured if I wasn't back by then, I wouldn't be comin' back and I didn't want you hanging around here, all alone, in the Narrows, late, after dark. I didn't plan on my employee dumping me at the scene and not coming back for me at some point-t."

She finally smiled, assured now that he wasn't angered that she had disobeyed him and stayed.

"I want to look after that arm. We can talk after I fix it up. I remember seeing a first aid kit in your room." She moved to leave him to fetch the supplies but he held on to her hand and pulled her back in sharply.

"You went in my room?" He tilted his face in towards hers in a gesture of intimidation.

"The door was open." She explained calmly, really not caring at this point as she just wanted to get the blood to stop. She noticed droplets falling on the tile floor, in dark polka dots.

"Well, that's just … it's just … _**punishable**_." He tried his best to look stern and threatening but even in the paint, she could sense he was kidding.

"You can punish me all you want after I fix that arm – and after your bath." She grasped his left sleeve and started to pull him along with her.

"After my _**what**_?" He stopped in his tracks.

"You're having a bath. Don't argue. I'm filling that beautiful tub in your bathroom and I'm going to scrub you clean. You can tell me all about what happened while I look after you."

He looked at her in the moonlight. She looked slightly tired and pale. She was dressed simply in her blue jeans and a rose-coloured buttoned sweater vest that accentuated the curves of her lovely bosom . Her hair was loose in dark waves around her face and down her back and her feet were bare. He licked his lips as he felt his body reacting to the lovely picture she presented. Could this suggestion of a bath signal that she was coming on to _**him**_ for a change? He didn't waste any time wondering about something so appealing.

"_**You're**_ going to scrub me?"

She nodded and pulled him again to come along with her.

"All over?" His eyes lit up and the expression on his face made her laugh.

"Yes. Just let me do this, please." The look she gave him was gentle but determined.

"Claire." He said her name like he was shocked. "You just wanna see me naked again, don't you."

She smirked at him in a mysterious way. He stopped moving along with her at the doorway.

"You go ahead and get the tub ready. I have something I have to do. I'll meet you there."

She let his sleeve go and shook her head that she would but he called to her as she mounted the stairway.

"Not too hot. It's bad for the sperm count. Just warm." He waved a warning finger at her.

She turned and smiled at him. "Of course." And then she was on her way.

When he was sure she was on the third floor and in his bedroom, he grabbed the lamp from under the table and bounded up to the fourth floor, to her quarters. He unboxed the lamp and set it out on the table beside the bed that was made up neatly. He turned it on so that it would be hot and bubbling by the time they made their way up there and tumbled onto the bed for the sex that was sure to follow.

The fact that she had waited was one bit of wonderful luck but the additional fact that she was being so concerned about him and wanting to pamper him was something else altogether.

As he made his way down one floor to the third, he was torn between retreating to his office on one side of the hall, where he could follow the news for a while and take in all the details of the brilliant heist he had engineered or go directly to the bathroom, and begin the night's sexual agenda.

He could hear the water running and thought about Claire's soft hands moving all over his body in a warm bath. He decided the news could wait until later. Pleasure always came first, to be plucked at the exact moment of ripeness.

He walked through his bedroom to the bathroom, dropping his outer coat and then the lighter jacket along the way. He was surprised when he entered to find that she had scrounged up some candles and had them lit by the tub where the water was rising with a healthy layer of fragrant suds. His nose detected something fruity – she had used her shampoo for bubble bath. Now, wasn't she an enterprising little bunny. Something told him she had planned this out in some detail.

She was stooping over the tub as her hands swished the water, helping the suds form and she looked over at him, her smile so beautiful, it almost took his breath away.

She came over to him as he sat down on the stool by the shower stall to unbutton his vest. She crouched down to examine the wound through his shirtsleeve that was completely soaked with his blood.

"How did you get such a deep cut?"

He gave a little giggle and reached into his vest pocket.

"This." He handed her the batarang that he had stowed away as a keepsake. "Careful. It's like a razor."

"What an egomaniacal brute." She frowned and laid the object on the side of the sink with an air of disgust.

The Joker began to laugh at her assessment of the Batman.

"He was only doing his job, Kitten."

"Yes but just imagine the arrogance of having weapons manufactured in your own likeness. He's a megalomaniac."

"It's his personal brand. All the rage these days." The Joker explained rationally as she removed his vest, pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt to assess the damage.

Claire had already decided on what she needed from the first aid kit and had the items waiting on a clean towel beside the tub.

Something else caught her attention now in the candle light. She felt something unpleasant squeeze at her stomach as she identified it.

"Jack, you seem to have an unusual rash here, on your neck."

"What? What does it look like?" He was truly perplexed but noticed how the deep green of her eyes dropped a few shades darker, a sign of an emotional response he was at a loss to understand.

"Well, it looks just like a woman's lip prints, in a glossy pink shade, all over your neck, under your chin and a few just missing your right ear."

"Oh that! That's…ah…. affectionitis." He replied without missing a beat.

She sat back on her heels and stared at him. It was a cold stare, he thought. Where was her sense of humour?

"Okay. It was Marta. She was really, really glad to see me."

She waited. Her silence was like a wall of ice.

"She's young, and enthusiastic." He looked at her and blurted out. "I didn't fuck, her, okay?"

Claire bit her bottom lip and looked down, away from him, as she swallowed down all the predictable, jealousy-tinged responses that sprung to her lips but did not pass them She was well aware that this was a situation that had to be handled with some delicacy and she could not allow herself to succumb to the typical female possessiveness that she felt but could not express out loud. She had no right to such a response. He had made no commitment to her. Just a short-term promise. She decided to take that route to back track over the blunder she had just made.

"Of course you didn't." She finally looked at him, calm and clear headed. "Because you promised that you wouldn't have anyone else while you were having me – while I'm here. So, of course you didn't."

He blinked at her, at a loss of what to say, because he had been ready to give her 'the talk'. The talk he gave all the women who got attached to him, who started to make an exclusive claim on his sexual activity. He was ready to set her straight, proclaim his right to have any woman he damn well pleased. But she had thrown him a curve ball. She had not only **not **challenged him, nagging, accusing; she had stated her faith in his promise. And in the sweetest way.

He frowned, caught a little off balance and then decided to just tell her the truth.

"Con and Marty picked me up a few blocks from the action. It was just dumb luck that they happened to drive down that street at exactly that moment. They saved me from being taken into custody by either the Bat or Gordon's boys. Marty got a little carried away. I spent all of five minutes in their company, waited for an opportune moment when they were both outside the car and then took off with it." He gave a little laugh at how he was actually sharing this with her. And she looked interested and entertained. Not the least bit concerned about how close he came to fucking either one of his rescuers, even though he had a reputation for doing both of them in the past. "So, ah, the lipstick is Marty's."

"And it's a hideous shade." Claire looked again and shook her head. "Must be a blonde to wear that."

"Actually, she's a redhead. Connie's the blonde. But she does everything her older sister does. Borrows everything."

"Like having you." Claire concluded.

"Ah, yeah. I guess. It annoys the crap outta Con." He concluded, feeling vaguely uncomfortable that they were having this conversation. "I don't like talking about other women – with you."

"Why not?"

"Because they don't mean anything in the grand scheme. It's just play time, you know? It's different…"

"Different how?" She held her breath.

He looked at her, squinted one eye like he was trying to measure the effect of what he was about to say.

"You are chess." He said carefully. "They are more like – checkers."

"Chinese checkers?"

"No, not even. Just the plain, black and red buttons." He pointed out.

She smiled. She understood. And he grinned because she was the only one in his world who would understand that analogy.

She basked a bit in the odd compliment and then pushed her hair away from her eyes to face him again, feeling so much better and ready to change the subject back to something more pressing.

"You get yourself into that warm water and let me take care of this for you." She told him simply, gently touching his injured right arm. "Off with the rest of these clothes."

He looked at her warily but stood up and allowed her to assist him in becoming naked for his bath. His shoes and socks were already off so she undid the button on his trousers, pulled the zipper down gently and then lowered his pants as she knelt down on one knee, helping him step out of them. She put a hand to his knee to steady herself when she stood up and he caught her strange smile before she turned from him to go back to the bath.

"What?" He stood where he was and she turned around again, eyes cast down and away but the smile was still there.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing's funny."

"Something's making you smile there Mona Lisa and I gotta tell ya that's not the usual reaction I get when I drop my pants." He waited.

"Well, it's just that's the first time that I've seen you, well, _**it**__,_ in a relaxed state."

She ventured another look, unable to stop smiling.

"And?" He wasn't going to let this go.

"You want me to say it?"

"Uh, huh."

"It's beautiful. " She wrinkled up her nose, feeling silly. "You have a lovely penis."

"You called it gorgeous the first time and I thought you were drunk."

"I _**was**_ drunk but I was still telling the truth." She moved over to the side of the tub and bent over to splash the water, as an invitation. "I shouldn't tell you things like that, Jack, because your head's too big already."

"I shouldn't tell you things like that, Jack, because you're head's too big already." He parroted her, in a high falsetto, complete with her British accent, as he moved over to the tub in a comical swaying dance, completely nude, that made her crack up into peals of laughter as she sat on the edge of the bathtub. The tenseness of the conversation just before was gone, evaporated, as he lowered himself in to the sudsy warm water with a deep sigh.

* * *

Charlie had made it to the first planned stop behind a church on Bancroft Boulevard where he let Freddy out of the back and gave him the keys. Freddy was to meet a few hired men already waiting near the abandoned railway car under the bridge where they would unload the cargo, safely stowing it away. Freddy was to take the van somewhere near the central police station as that was the last place they would be searching, and leave it there. That would be the end of the mission for him.

There was already another vehicle, a late model, green, pick-up truck with fake plates, waiting behind the church for Charlie to finish his work for the night by taking care of what to do with Janice. The Joker would have usually been along at this point to give orders about the hostage situation. Without the boss there, Charlie had to decide what to do on his own.

Janice was sitting obediently on the front passenger side of the pick-up truck, hands still tethered behind her back, when Charlie jumped up to take the wheel, his balaclava still part of his attire. In the dark, alone, without Freddy riding along in the back, they were alone for the first time and it felt oddly intimate. He started up the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, without a clue where to go.

"Where do you live?" He looked over at her, trying to keep things as impersonal as possible given the very misplaced vibes he had been feeling since laying eyes on her. She had been nearly silent since they left the Joker behind. He had seen this before in hostages. She was beginning to process what had happened; that her friends had been murdered and that she, herself, had been, literally, a knife's edge away from having her throat slit by the Joker's hand. She was going into a state of mild shock as she sorted it out.

"I asked you where you live." He said with a little less edge. "I just want to take you home."

She looked over at him as he drove as though she was seeing him for the first time.

"I don't want to go home. I can't go home. Not right now."

He pulled the truck down a side road, away from traffic and parked it under a burnt out street lamp. Sirens could still be heard in the distance as the police kept moving around the city looking for him, the Joker, and anyone else they could blame for the day's events. He wondered, just briefly, if the boss had managed to get away. He hadn't bothered to turn on the radio as the reports would only upset her further.

"Turn around." He grasped the plastic tie that held her in an uncomfortable position. "I'm freeing your hands."

She moved slowly, turning her back to him as he pulled a small knife from his boot and cut the tie. She moved her arms to the front slowly, rubbing her wrists carefully, as though it was painful, and then she moved back against the seat and sat up straight, as though waiting for more orders. He realized he was still holding the knife and her eyes watched it carefully.

He pushed it back into the sheath inside his boot and then sat back against the door and looked at her. Her hair was nearly completely free of the bun now and covered her shoulders and flowed down her back nearly to her waist. In the soft light from the distant street lamps, it looked like burnished copper. She turned a pale face to him and he noticed her eyes were dark hazel or maybe brown. It was difficult to tell. Something about her felt familiar yet he knew he didn't know her. He was sure he didn't know her. It was the weirdest feeling but not unpleasant.

"I know you're probably feeling shitty about your friends back there. The ones who were killed."

"They weren't my friends." She said simply, her voice steady but flat. "They were the worst excuses for soldiers I ever had the displeasure to be stationed with. A bunch of assholes, if you want the truth."

"Truth is good." He didn't know what else to say as her response wasn't the usual.

"Still….." She continued. "No one deserves what he dished out. He'll get caught." She said with certainty.

Charlie didn't say anything in response. Had she forgotten who had helped the Joker? The way they were chatting, like friends, after what had happened, with each on the other side of the action; it was bordering on bizarre.

"Don't you think you would draw less attention if you took that thing off?" She asked suddenly, still rubbing her wrists to get the blood flowing.

"What?" He was clueless, his thoughts lost for the moment as he wondered about the odd way she was looking at him.

"The ski mask?"

"Oh, that." He reached up to touch the black wooly disguise. He had forgotten all about it.

He felt a real hesitation at removing it in front of her but oddly enough it had nothing to do with her ability to identify him later.

She raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, her full, pink mouth set in a gentle quirk as though she found him rather amusing.

"Here. Let me."

Before he could answer, she was moved over next to him, gently grasping the bottom of the mask and rolling it up over his face and off his head. His long brown hair fell back down around his face and he reached up to smooth it as she let the mask drop to the floor of the truck and took a good look at him.

He looked away. This woman was confusing him with this unexpected boldness. He could not remember feeling so … what was it? Shy? Christ, that was it. What the hell was going on here?

The mild amusement that he had detected was still there, in her expression. He was about to question it when she cleared up the mystery for him.

"I had this idea, in my head, about what you looked like under that mask." She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at him again. "I was right."

"About?" Charlie pressed on, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

"I thought you might be sort of easy on the eyes under there." Janice looked at her hands for a moment, keeping him waiting, and then looked right into his confused grey eyes. "I was right. In fact, I was **more** than right."

Charlie just stared at her for a moment, not sure if she had, in fact, just declared that she found him attractive. He sat back against the seat and reached into his jacket to retrieve his cigarettes. He pulled one out with practiced, nimble fingers and put it in his mouth, still, apparently. deep in thought. This sort of thing never happened to him. He really didn't know how to process a compliment – especially from someone like her. This young woman was alluring as hell.

"Mind if I?" He held up his lighter, ready to indulge in the one habit that never failed to bring some clarity to his mind.

"Can I have one, too?"

He froze.

"Oh, is it your last one?" She was ready to withdraw the request.

"No. no. Got nearly a whole pack. You smoke?"

"Used to. Quit." Janice accepted the white cylinder gratefully. "Seems like a good time to start again."

He watched her put the cigarette between her pink lips and then lifted the flame to light it for her. As if in a trance, he watched her puff as the tip glowed and then she took a long drag and let out the smoke slowly as she sighed and sat back in her seat. She held the cigarette in her mouth as she reached up and undid what was left of her bun and finger combed her loose mane into a semblance of order.

"Why don't you want to go home?" He tried to relax, his mind racing, trying to weigh the risk he was taking by staying in her company. The more they interacted, the better she could ID him, later. Was that her game?

"I'm not ready for the cops, the questions, the de-briefing." She said simply, enjoying her smoke. "I'm sort of a private person. I'm not ready for all that. They are probably waiting there for me now."

"You gotta go home sometime." He pointed out, daring to look at her, allowing eye contact that he feared would ignite something he was ill equipped to deal with under the circumstances.

"I need some time." She looked at him now, directly. The eyes were hazel – not dark enough to be brown, he decided. She had eyebrows that went up in the middle and arched downward slightly at the outer edges, suggesting innocence or worry. "Is Charlie your real name?"

"It is."

* * *

Claire examined the cut carefully. It was deep but because the weapon had been so razor-sharp, the edges were neat and clean. She used gauze and peroxide to disinfect and watched him carefully for signs of pain. He was playing with the bubbles with his other hand as though nothing was happening.

"Should have stitches." She concluded.

"Are you going to stitch me up?

"God. No." She shivered at the thought of putting needles through his skin.

"Then we'll have to improvise." He said calmly, looking at her and smiling, amused by her dilemma. He could stitch it up himself but he wasn't going to make it so easy for her. This was interesting.

"Well, I've got all these steri-strips." She shared her thoughts as she pawed through the supplies in the box near the tub. "If I put a lot of them on, they might keep it closed enough to allow some clotting.

"Criss-cross." He blew some bubbles off the palm of his hand casually.

"Criss what?"

"Cross-cross the strips. Two layers. One, one way; one, the other. Sort of like basket weaving. Strong as hell. Gauze pad on top of that. Tape it all up tight as a drum and I'm good to go." She worked away busily using his idea. He hardly checked what she was doing until she laid the gauze pad on top of her handiwork.

"Tape it tight." He reminded her.

She finished it up, cutting away the excess tape ad sat back on her heels to examine the patch.

"I hope it doesn't become infected."

"Don't borrow trouble." He blew some suds at her and she blinked at him, but smiled at his playfulness. "You were going to scrub me clean, remember? I'm waiting. The water's cooling off, Claire Bear."

She cleared the medical supplies away and pulled the stool over so she could reach him more easily in the tub.

"Keep that arm out of the tub. It's clean now." She looked at his face, in the flickering candle light. "How do we get that stuff off your face. It looks greasy."

"Oil, in the cabinet. Go. Get." He gave instructions pointing across the room.

She remembered that bottle of oil from her snooping earlier in the day. So, that's what it was for. She got up and retrieved it, picking up a gauze pad from the medical supplies and soaking it.

"Grease dissolves grease." He said simply as she leaned over and began to swab his forehead, his nose and around his eyes, alternating with a wet washcloth as she went along and his features began to emerge from the Joker's mask. She took her time with the scars, being gentle and finding it difficult to remove it all due to the number of pits and valleys. She did the best she could. When she finished the mouth, she stopped for a moment and smiled.

"There's my boy."

"Boy?"

"Well, it's how I think of you sometimes." She admitted, cleaning up around his neck and ears, taking care of Marta's handiwork at the same time. "I can't help it."

"There's something sort of pervy about that." He told her as she squeezed water over his head to wet his hair for shampoo. "I like it."

He leaned back and sunk a little deeper into the water as she added shampoo and started to scrub his green locks. The shampoo suds turned slightly green, lifting some of the colour. The bubbles in the bath were protecting his modesty for the moment but she let her eyes wander over his form, the long, lightly muscled limbs and his lean torso.

"You're very slender for someone who eats so much." She observed as she began to rinse his hair, squeezing the water through it. He blinked at her and sat up a little bit, bothered by her comment.

"So you think I'm skinny."

"No, not skinny." She assured him. "That's not what I said."

"I'm too skinny for ya."

"Will you stop?" She grasped his chin and leered at him in a comical way. "You know I think you're perfect. I love your body. I think I told you that already."

He was quiet for a moment, looking at her suspiciously.

"You just gonna wash my hair? That's it?" He heaved a sigh, feigning disappointment.

She used her fingers to comb his hair back, out of his eyes, and then began to scrub his left shoulder, and upper arm, the one that was in the water and then moved over to his chest. He smiled contentedly as she moved the warm water and soft cloth over him slowly, taking her time.

Her hands moved below the water line and he closed his eyes as she moved over his belly and hips and then she was there. She began to massage everything that was between his legs in a slow, sensual rhythm, that made him let out a low moan of pleasure. She lingered there for a few minutes, feeling him respond with firmness that she stroked with both hands, enjoying the intimacy and his reaction.

"You give the best handjob." He whispered to her, voice throaty with lust. "I swear I just want you to bring me off that way sometime – when semen isn't so precious that we can't waste a bit. Promise?"

"Promise." She purred to him.

Then she had to move on and took care of his thighs, his legs and even his feet. That made him giggle as she pulled the cloth between his toes, meticulous about getting every bit.

"Okay sit up so I can get your back."

He sighed, moved up to sit while she ran the water and her hands over his back in delicious circles that eased the aches from the day's activity. This was heaven.

She took an inventory of the usual scars she had noticed before, in the candlelight and there was some fresh bruising around his left shoulder blade that caught her attention. She pressed softly.

"You're bruised. Does that hurt?"

"No, it's fine. I got thrown around a bit when the tire got shot out and I lost the steering. No, the arm's the worst of it." Then something occurred to him.

"Promise me something else, Kumquat?"

"Hmmm?" she responded pleasantly, enjoying the chance to pamper him like this.

"If you do get pregnant, promise me that he or she will take up and master at least one martial art. I think it's good for all round development. I don't care if it's Tae Quon Do or Jiu Jitsu or whatever. Just make sure they learn the discipline and master all the levels. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to learn along with them. The Bat's a ninja, you know. I had heard the rumours but that throwing thing he nailed me with today sealed the deal. He's a ninja."

"You can fight." She reassured him as she moved down to smooth the washcloth over his lower back. "You're quick. You can take care of yourself."

"Nah, I'm a street fighter. I make it up as I go along. And I fight dirty too. I always wanted to learn something with more finesse, more discipline."

She didn't say anything, unsure whether he was really serious. But he wanted a promise. He pressed on.

"Okay? Agreed? The sprout will have a black belt and a mind that can be stilled like the surface of a smooth lake."

"If you say so." She put an arm around his shoulder and gave him a hug to reassure him that she agreed. "Now get out of this tub so I can dry you off."

She stepped back and grabbed the large blue towel she had waiting. He stepped out in front of her and she began with his hair. He had to stoop down a little so she could reach. He remained passive and allowed her to look after him. She seemed to be enjoying it so much and it was very satisfying.

"I like this. I love having a bath when I have a wench to wash my hair and scrub my balls. Great idea."

She was drying his shoulders off and moving down his chest, smirking as she did so.

"Didn't your mother do this for you?"

"What, scrub my balls?"

"When you were little." She used the edge of the towel to smack him playfully on the chest.

"She did." He looked into her eyes and grinned. "She looked after me as well as she could." Then his gaze drifted off and he got quiet.

She immediately regretted mentioning his mother, his childhood, the past that could not have been anywhere near normal when it included a father who terrorized both his wife and his son. There was no way to take it back. She gave into the urge to put her arms around him for a moment as she wrapped the towel around his hips and secured it in front like a skirt. She rested her head against his chest and he allowed the embrace.

"Thanks, Baby. That felt real good." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You take good care of me."

Her mind was racing. She wanted to do more. She wanted to offer him something special. To show him how much she adored him. Her hands dropped to the towel again and she undid it, removing it from his body. She folded it loosely and let it drop to the tiled floor in front of him. He just watched, mildly confused at what she was doing.

Then she got down on one knee and then the other, on the towel and looked up at him. He looked at her, one eye squinted in a questioning way.

The candlelight shone off her hair and sparkled in her jungle green eyes as she moved her hands up his thighs slowly, lovingly, and she spoke quietly, sounding a little anxious.

"Look, I haven't done this before. Just be a little patient. And don't grab my head." She made eye contact with him as he felt her grasp his awakening erection firmly in her hand as she licked her lips thoroughly, getting ready to offer him as much pleasure as he could stand.


	25. Chapter 25 Declaration

_**Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing. **_

_**I think I should be updating roughly every two weeks just so you have some idea. I'll do my best to stick to that time frame or sooner if I can. **_

_**Sorry I left you in the middle of such an *ahem* delicate moment in the previous chapter. I'll try not to do that again. **_

The Endgame

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Declaration"

Charlie chose the Night Owl Motel only because it was the one that they came upon first after he had decided it was best for her to check in for the night since she wasn't ready to go home and wanted to avoid the scenario of being taken for questioning and de-briefing by the police and possibly being sent to the hospital as well to get checked out. He could understand her reluctance to subject herself to that right now; she had been through enough today.

He came back to the truck where she waited and he passed her a card key with a cartoon picture of a sleepy owl on it.

"You're paid up. No need to see anyone tomorrow when you leave. Just drop the card in the deposit slot on your way out. You're number 48, at the end."

He started up the engine and drove the short distance to park in front of the unit. It was a typical motel unit with single door, drab coloured curtains, drawn. She was quiet as he reached into his pocket and offered her a few large denomination bills.

"For something to eat. You must be hungry. You can order in. And for cab fare tomorrow to get back home." He explained as he stuffed the money into the palm of her hand but she didn't close her fingers around it.

"I don't want to take your money." She dropped it on the seat, frowning. "I won't know where to send it – to pay you back."

"Consider it a gift," Charlie picked it up off the seat and grasped her wrist as he wadded the money up in her palm and closed her fingers around it firmly, insistently. "It's the least I can do."

This time, she took it and pushed it into her military jacket pocket as she looked at him as though there was something she wanted to say but was finding it difficult. He waited for her to exit the truck to the safe and private haven for the night; to get ready for the onslaught that would surely follow tomorrow when she returned to wherever she called home.

She looked at him in a tentative way, fingering the card key nervously.

"Will you stay with me? Just for a while?"

There was a brief silence as he leaned back in his seat and put his head back, sighing deeply and letting it out slowly.

"That's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I think you know." He turned his head to look at her, grey eyes serious.

"Tell me." She seemed to relax a little now and smiled a crooked smile, indicating that she didn't need it spelled out for her, but she wanted to hear him say it.

He reached over and pushed some of her long russet locks behind her shoulder softly and let his hand rest there for a moment before moving it away, slowly.

"I don't trust myself." He returned her awkward smile. "I have no idea what's going on here. I only know I'd have a hard time keeping my distance."

"You married? Like the Joker said?" She asked quietly.

"Yup."

"Then nothing will happen. I couldn't do that."

"What do you want, Janice? Why do you want me to stay?"

Her smile reached her eyes when she heard him use her name.

"I only want to talk a bit until I'm sleepy. I don't want to be alone."

* * *

At the tenement, Claire contemplated the commitment she had just made to performing oral sex for the first time in her life. To say she was nervous was a laughable understatement. She wished for the first time in her life that she had watched more porn. She wanted to please him. What galled her most was the fact that she knew that he had probably sampled the very best that Gotham had to offer in his very prolific sex life. She was going to be compared to some professionals, she was sure. Too late to back out now.

The Joker, still completely naked from his bath, leaned back a bit to brace himself against the edge of the tub. His knees were already starting to buckle a little, in anticipation of something he thought he would never, ever experience. This was so much more than he had dared hope for. The very idea of her going down on him, and being her first, was absolutely delicious. Why was she taking so long?

"You, ah, need some instructions down there?" He put his hands on the edge of the tub to help him resist the urge to grab her head to get things started. "I'll give you a hint. It's called **oral** sex."

"Don't make fun of me. I know what to do." She scolded him gently, continuing to stroke him as she tried to figure out how to approach this very intimate, not to mention, intimidating, act.

She got warmed up to the idea by starting with soft kisses along his thighs and against his belly and hip as she studied his erection at close range and marveled at how hard he was and yet, so very sensitive. She pressed the length of him between her soft hands and opened her mouth to take him in. The head was soft as satin against her tongue. She let her lips close around the shaft and heard his ragged breathing turn into a raspy moan that told her this was a good start.

She used her hand and her mouth to stroke and suck, not able to take him in completely due to his size. As she experimented a little with the pressure and the rhythm, she got more comfortable and let her instincts take over. The sounds he was making were getting her very aroused. Due to her rather strict upbringing and limited sexual experience, there was something incredibly dirty about what she was doing; but his reaction, the deep pleasure he expressed, made her want to continue.

As she worked him, she felt a gentle hand cup her chin, urging her to look up. She obeyed.

"Just need some eye contact, Baby." He could barely manage the words, so overcome with pleasure. And their eyes met as she continued to suck and stroke. She held his intense gaze; candle light flickering in the deep brown, until his eyes closed and the expression on his face was a picture of perfect bliss.

His breathing rate increased, punctuated by wanton moans and whispered curses, uttered in the throes of passion. She ventured another look at him but his head was tilted back and he pushed his hips forward a bit encouraging, asking for more. She responded by slipping one hand around his slender hip to grip one side of his ass possessively. She slowed the rhythm a little and then let him slip out of her mouth for a rest. She needed to get a breath. She continued to stroke as he looked down at her again, a look of wonder on his face.

"Okay? Is it okay?" She asked, timidly.

"Are you sure you never did this before?" He was a little breathless.

"It's okay then?"

"Okay?" He gave a weak little giggle and looked around like he wasn't sure where he was. "Okay?" He was clearly at a loss for words.

"More?" She pressed her cheek against his hip as her hand kept him stoked.

"Oh, don't you tease me." He waved a warning finger at her. She grinned.

"More?" She pressed his cock against her cheek with a soft hand and tried her coy look.

"Want me to get out my knife?"

"You don't have a knife. You're naked, remember?"

"Maybe I'm hiding one up my ass." He tilted his head, challenging her, as she started to laugh.

"I wouldn't be surprised." She placed kisses along his length.

"I want more." He reached down and ran his hand through her dark wavy mane. "But just a little more. You can't take me all the way. I don't think I can get you pregnant if I come all over your tonsils."

"You can if you want." She felt her confidence swell as she traced the delicate tip with her tongue. "I don't mind." She was lying because she had no idea what to do in that scenario. She hadn't thought ahead. She only thought had been to please him.

"Don't tempt me." He sighed. "But, no. No. Just a little more and then we're on our way upstairs to plant another row of seeds. This could be the lucky one."

* * *

Janice slipped the card key in the slot and opened the door to the dark, stuffy motel room. She moved inside as Charlie felt for the light switch and illuminated a fairly generic accommodation with two single beds side by side, a tired looking couch, a table with a lamp and an armchair by the window where standard issue flowered draperies were shut. They would remain closed as neither one of them wanted any attention drawn to them.

Janice moved to the bedside table and flicked on a lamp. Without discussion, she moved past Charlie who was leaning against the door jamb and flicked off the brighter, overhead light.

"I'm just going to get tidied up a bit, okay? You'll wait?" She stood next to him now and he noted that she was just a bit shorter than him. "Maybe you could order something to eat?" She nodded at the phone on the table and the phone book beneath it.

"What do you want?" He stood up from his lean. "To eat."

"It really doesn't matter. Order what you want."

She left him as she disappeared into the bathroom. Charlie looked at the phone and at the bathroom door and around the room, trying to understand what the hell he was doing here. He hesitated for a moment before going over to the phone and calling a Chinese restaurant take-out – he knew the number by memory as he and Cha Cha ordered in frequently. She didn't cook.

Food order placed, he decided to settle into the armchair, his mind still going over all the possible ways this could be a set-up. That she could be luring him into his own arrest. The door was there. His truck was there. He could leave now. It wasn't like him to ignore common sense.

The bathroom door opened and she walked over to the bed closest to the arm chair and sat down on the edge. She had straightened her hair but let it flow loose and her face looked freshly scrubbed. She removed her jacket and he watched as she folded it neatly beside her on the bed. Her shirt was a creamy colour, a few buttons undone at the top. She wasn't a buxom girl, not a bombshell, like Cha Cha, but he found her so very lovely. Understated beauty; not painted and on display. She looked at him now where he sat just a few feet away, one leg crossed on the other knee, arms rested on the arms of the chair, his lithe frame relaxed, but his eyes looked watchful and more alert than what would be necessary under the circumstances.

"It's okay, Charlie. I'm not trying to get you into trouble." She read his mind. "I really just don't want to be alone right now. Thank you for staying."

Her calmness and politeness was out of place. She should be raving at him, or falling apart in shock. But all he got was some misplaced gratitude for his presence here, after assisting the Joker in terrorizing her place of work, killing some of her colleagues and having her own life threatened.

"I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone." He shared his thought with her and she smiled.

"If you work with the Joker, that must be a familiar place."

He smiled back now, nodding that she had a point.

"It's weird." Janice continued on the theme. "But I overheard the guys talking about the Joker a few days ago and they were discussing all the theories there are about who he might be – you know - his identity."

Charlie seemed content to listen, so she continued.

"The most popular story is that he was Black Ops. You know, a government agent. And the idea is that he probably became a loose cannon, a liability, so they wiped him. Got rid of his memory. There is a theory in some circles that most black ops are psychopaths or at the very least, sociopaths."

"It would seem to be a pre-requisite for doing some of the shit they have to do, wouldn't it?" Charlie had heard this before; before he actually went to work for the Joker. There were times when he had the distinct feeling that the Joker had been in the service. "I mean, they participate in kidnappings, torture and sometimes - assassinations."

"So it sort of fits." Janice seemed to want his opinion.

"Well, he knows his weaponry and tactical moves. But, honestly, I don't know. I have wondered, myself. One thing is for sure, he **is** a psychopath."

"You're ex-military, aren't you. That jacket." She nodded at his camo jacket. "It's yours – not borrowed." She took note of the patches of camoflague that looked brighter, in rectangles and star shapes, where he had removed the stars and bars, leaving it bare. "What was your rank?" He had worn a lot of insignia, a clue that he had been quite high up in the pecking order.

"Regular little sleuth, aren't you?" Charlie shifted a little uncomfortably in his armchair. "Ex-military is correct. The jacket is mine. I consider it lucky."

"Iraq?"

"Afghanistan." He knew damn well the less details she had on him, the better, but, irrationally, he trusted her. "Do you know how many caves there are in Tora Bora?"

"Thousands? Tens of thousands?" She guessed.

"Uh huh. And I've probably seen the inside of every one."

"And you left the service because …"

"Because I realized, after a time, that it was all bullshit; totally unnecessary, a hyped up theatrical show for the masses, signifying – fuck all. I could do all that same shit at home, in a better climate, work for myself, and make better money. Uncle Sam can kiss my ass, know what I mean?"

"I think so." She admitted. She recognized that he was disillusioned with the military. She shared the feeling. The thing was - it was all she had.

They were quiet for a moment, so quiet that they could hear the traffic outside slipping along past on the rain-soaked pavement. The room felt intimate in the lamp light and with two beds dominating the furnishings. Charlie tried to think of something else when she leaned forward and looked at him earnestly.

"Thank you for saving my life today. He would have killed me."

He shook his head and pushed his hand through his longish brown hair with an air of frustration.

"Look, you don't have to thank me for anything. The Joker didn't act alone, in case you didn't notice. I was front and centre. I'm as much to blame for what nearly happened to you."

Silence again. But this time, their gaze met and held and she could see him taking some deep breaths, as though he was becoming agitated.

"What's going on here, Janice?"

"The Joker hinted that things weren't good for you at home." She startled him again with something out of left field.

"What?"

"Would you say that your wife doesn't understand you?"

That was it. He needed a cigarette. He retrieved the pack from his jacket, pulled one out with a slightly shaky hand and offered her the pack. She took one. After lighting their smokes, he uncrossed his legs and then crossed them in the other direction and shifted into the chair to get more comfortable. He took a long drag and blew it out toward the ceiling.

"She would say that I don't understand **her**." He couldn't believe he was participating in this conversation. "And she would be right."

"Have you ever cheated on her?"

Charlie looked away for a moment, and then looked back at her. "Yup."

"And has she ever cheated on you?"

"Yup."

"Then why are you together?"

He squinted a little as he searched for an answer to her question. He decided that the truth was best.

"Our boy. We have a son."

"Some people would say that it's not good for children to be in a bad marriage. How old is he?"

"Eight."

"You're a father." She smiled at him and he had to smile back. As whacked out as this conversation was becoming, it felt good to talk about this with someone. And he chalked it up to the fact that she was probably a little in shock. He could cut her some slack for the inappropriateness of her line of questioning. And he just liked being in her company. Aside from the fact that he wanted to pin her to that bed, she was interesting as hell.

"Yeah." Charlie felt all chances of getting any closer to this woman, evaporating with her image of him as a cheating husband and father to an eight-year-old boy. "It's complicated."

"Life **is** complicated." She agreed and then dropped a bomb into the conversation. "I cheated on my fiancé when he was deployed in Iraq. I didn't even like the guy I did it with. I think I was just getting back at my boyfriend for not being there. I was so lonely. We were together since high school. He was my best friend."

Charlie let that information settle in for a moment and then asked the logical question.

"Was he upset when he found out?"

"He didn't find out. I learned the very next day that he was killed. Probably right around the time I was letting some guy do me, he was being blown up in little pieces all over the desert." Janice took a drag on her cigarette and held it for a moment before blowing it out at him, looking him in the eye, waiting for a response, almost provoking it.

"Shit happens, Janice."

"I wish he could have lived long enough to find out and get so pissed at me. And that we would have had a big fight, a real hell raiser, and broke up and then maybe it wouldn't have hurt so bad when we had to bury him."

"When did this happen?

"Six months ago." Janice stared at the draperies behind him, as though she was remembering the details.

"That's it!" Charlie's memory kicked in. "That's where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar."

"What?" Janice tilted her head with the question.

"They televised part of the funeral, here in Gotham. I remember seeing it on GCN. The reporters were all over you and his family right after the ceremony, all up in your face. And I remember you telling them to leave his mother alone. And they just followed you and kept asking stupid, dumb ass questions, like "how do you feel", "are you proud he was a hero" and you stopped, looked right into their camera, and you gave them the finger. I mean …. it was beautiful."

"Parasites." Janice sniffed. "His mother is still a basket case. He was her only child."

Charlie watched her for a moment and let her be with her thoughts. A blind man could see clearly that this was a young woman crippled with guilt.

"He would have understood. He would have forgiven you."

She looked at him, close to tears, but holding them back, bravely, like a soldier.

"But, I can't forgive myself."

There was a knock on the door that startled them and then he remembered the food he had ordered. The place was fast. That's why he always used them. He stood up and took a quick look through the separation in the drapes, to be sure, before going to the door. Janice made a point of turning slightly from the door so she was not being seen head on – so that the person at the door could not identify her later and associate her with Charlie. It was more for his protection than her own.

Charlie took the package from the Asian delivery boy and gave him a healthy tip. The boy spoke up cheerfully as he noticed a woman sitting on the bed, quietly, and took in the sight of her very long coppery coloured hair.

"You want fan for wife?" He held up a long thin box with Chinese writing on it.

"What?" Charlie was confused at this sudden misunderstanding.

"Fan. We give out to every customer today as gift. For the ladies. It very beautiful, like your wife." The boy nodded in Janice's direction. He held it out so that Charlie had to take it.

The boy left and Charlie walked to the table where he placed the fragrant package of food and the gift-boxed fan, and then walked past Janice, without looking at her and went to the bathroom where he lingered for a few minutes, finished his cigarette and flushed it. Then he regained his composure and ventured out into the main room again where she had placed the food containers opened and ready. She pulled one of the two straight back chairs close to the table and gestured to him with her chopsticks.

"Help yourself. It looks delicious."

Charlie took a seat at the table and noticed the small long box sitting to the side. He picked it up and handed it to her.

She hesitated as she turned it over in her graceful hands, studying the ornate design and writing on the box. Then she handed it back to him.

"It's for your wife. He said so."

He shook his head.

"No. It's yours. Souvenir." Then he stood up and walked to the door.

"Charlie, no. Did I say something wrong?" She looked at him, stricken. "Please don't go."

His mind raced and odd things tumbled in and out. Mostly he thought about how it was a rule, in his business, to never get to know victims personally. He could see now that if he had known that she was on duty at the Amory today, he could never have subjected her to that trauma, so soon after having had the worst experience of her life. He would have given it a pass. He would have left her alone. He also knew that if he stayed, he could do her more harm than good. This young woman was fragile. Life had broken her in many places and her association with him, in any form, would only bring her more pain. Because, basically, he was not a good man. At least, not good enough for her.

"Stay well, Janice. I'm sorry for today." He raised his right hand in a peace sign, as a farewell, and then turned and disappeared through the door, closing it firmly behind him in a manner that forbade her to follow.

* * *

The Joker followed Claire up the flight of stairs to her room, grabbing at her shapely bottom all the way, causing her to slap at him behind her in a playful manner. He was still naked and getting a draft as the halls were always cooler than the rooms in this place.

As they rounded the end of the staircase, he let her go ahead so that she would be first into the room, to allow her to find the lava lamp, his gift.

He leaned against the railing, sort of hunched over, trying to preserve body heat when she disappeared into the room and he heard her calling to him, joyfully, like a little girl getting a pony.

"I love it! I love it! Where did you get such a beautiful thing?"

He put his head around the door way and grinned at her as she sat on the edge of the bed, touching the glass with her fingertips where the lava moved in dramatic sculptures through the colours, green, red and blue. It was the only light in the room and cast shadows on the wall. It glowed on her face that was set in an expression of wonder.

"I promise I won't shoot this one." She smiled at him. "It's wonderful."

He loped over to the bed and dove in, pulling up a blanket, making a big show of being cold. "Com'on, get in here and warm me up, Kitten. I'm getting icicles on my balls."

She turned to him to join him but he shook his head and waved her away.

"You got to get naked, like me, first. You can undress over there, while I, ah, watch." He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

She stood there, beside the bed, and put a hand on her hip, in a mildly defiant fashion.

"I'm not doing a strip tease for you, Jack. I'm not as uninhibited as you."

"You don't have to do a strip tease. Just undress…slowly. You have to get undressed anyway. I just want to enjoy watching. So do it slowly. I let you undress **me**." He got comfortable on his side, the blanket just pulled to his waist now as he rested his head on his hand, waiting. "Com'on, Kumquat. Show me what cha got."

She frowned at him, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Do I have to take that knife outta my ass?" Do I, hmmm?" He tilted his gaze at her in a pseudo threatening manner.

At that, she burst out laughing. Then she looked around and saw how soft the lighting was and he was right. She had to undress anyway. So, she turned away from him and started to undo the sweater vest, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Slowwwwwwly." He reminded her. She took one button at a time with a pause between each one. "That's better."

She shrugged the vest down her arms and kept her back to him, still looking at him over her shoulder, in a very coy manner. The way he looked at her made her feel very desired and she relaxed a little. The vest fluttered to the floor and she reached back to undo a lacey pink bra, loosening each hook, separately, again with a pause in between. She could see his breathing change as his chest rose and fell a little more quickly. She also noticed his left hand disappear under the blanket. Was he?

She turned as the bra fell open and she clutched it to her as she faced him, waited a few moments as they gazed at each other, and then lifted it from one breast and then the other, before letting it fall.

"Oh, baby." He breathed.

"What are you doing under that blanket?" She put one forearm across her breasts as she started to undo her jeans with the other. "Are you….?"

"Sharpening my blade." He told her in a voice heavy with lust.

"Are you touching yourself?" Her eyes were wide and she licked her lips. "You are." This seemed to fascinate her to no end.

"Never mind." He giggled at her. "Keep going."

She started to slide her jeans down her legs, exposing pink lace panties.

"Okay, turn around and bend over when you take off the rest." He gave the order and she obeyed, giving him one last look before bending over to step out of the jeans, tossing them away, and then bent down again to hitch her thumbs into the panties, teasing them down to her ankles.

"This is uncomfortable." She mumbled into her knees. "Can I stand up now?"

"No. I want you to stay like that forever."

"Jack."

"What?"

"I want to come to bed now."

There was a pause and then his voice lightened up and he called her.

"Come to papa."

She took the few steps to tumble into the bed with him, as they immediately went into an embrace under the blankets, rubbing and cuddling their body warmth against each other. Then he took charge and pushed her gently into the pillows onto her back as he leaned over her, brushing her long hair away from her face. He bent his head to begin a session of kissing that deepened into foreplay as she pulled him down on top of her, his hand stroking the fullness of her breasts, teasing her sensitive nipples until she was moaning against his mouth.

He moved his mouth to her breasts to enjoy the luscious softness. His hot tongue teased the nipples, flicking and sucking, as his hand trailed down over her flat belly to explore between her legs. With only a little coaxing she let her knee fall to the side to give him access as his fingers explored the moist, delicate folds. He teased the sensitive bud with practiced fingertips before slipping two fingers inside to start to prime her for what was to come.

"You like that?" He whispered to her as she pressed her hips up, giving in to the passion that was building into something close to frenzy. "You ready for me?"

She responded by reaching to grasp his erection. She kissed his shoulder and neck and whispered back. "Oh, please."

He slipped his fingers out and pushed her knees up and apart as he mounted her, moving into the warm silky tightness of her with one firm thrust that made them both moan with relief. Then they found their rhythm and her legs tightened around his waist, her ankles crossed tightly, possessively.

While his body invaded hers, his mouth and tongue followed suit in a series of deep kisses that intensified the thrill of what was happening below the waist. His hand beneath her, massaged the small of her back as he pulled her more and more deeply against him with each thrust. The feel of her satiny skin against his belly and her full breasts pillowed against his chest, was delicious. He loved her curves and her softness and the fragrant sweep of her long, dark mane framing that beautiful face and those half-closed, gorgeous eyes that watched him with an expression of something close to adoration.

"Now, doesn't that feel better than syringes and plastic tubing?" He teased her, referring to her description of her self-insemination plans. "Aren't you glad I talked you into doing it the natural way?" He whispered in her ear as he angled his hips to thrust against a particularly delicate spot inside her.

"What makes you think you talked me into anything?" She blurted it out breathlessly, her dark green eyes, staring into his startled brown ones.

He moved in for a kiss but they ended up spluttering a laugh against each other's mouth before the pleasure overtook them again and conversation became impossible.

He made it last as long as he could, not wanting it to end, even though the orgasm she led him to was mind-blowing, and just seemed to get better each time.

Claire was in such a state that the feel of him coming inside her and the way he gave up control, overcome with pleasure, it all sent her over the edge and she felt her own climax follow within seconds. They clung to each other, riding it out together, until they were delivered to the other side – to the perfect, sweet, calm that followed.

After a few minutes, after their breathing settled back to something close to normal, he moved to withdraw, but she clung to him, pulling him down onto her where she lay, beginning the twenty minutes she must lie on her back, still, letting nature have her chance at a miracle.

"Aren't I heavy?" He rubbed his nose against hers, watching with satisfaction how her face glowed with contentment.

"Just stay, please." She rubbed his back and shoulders. "I have to tell you something."

"You pregnant already?"

"No." She snuffled a soft laugh. "That's impossible. You know that."

"I work fast."

"Jack don't get mad…." She tried to think of the best way of approaching this.

"Oh, I don't like the **sound** of that." He sang to her, pressing his forehead against hers. "Maybe you should keep this little announcement to yourself."

"I don't expect anything from you. I honestly don't." She began but he started to shake his head from side to side and to move off of her, like he couldn't get away from her fast enough. He grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around his waist and his foot was just hitting the floor when her words overtook him.

"I love you." She said it steady and clear so he was sure to hear her, correctly.

He froze where he was, his back to her, as she lay still, on her back. She looked at him there, caught by her declaration. Too late to flee.

"I know you don't believe in it. I don't care. I have to tell you because I want you to know. It's without expectations or conditions. I need to know that you know that I love you – probably never stopped."

There was a long silence before he sat back down on the bed and leaned his back against the headboard, not looking at her. His voice was quiet and serious.

"You're right. I don't believe in it. I mean, I believe in certain kinds of love. Like between parent and child – not always – but sometimes. But there is no such thing as romantic love, Pumpkin. It's a myth. It's possession. It's selfish. It's delusional. You are deluded. Just because I'm fucking you and it feels good, you convince yourself that the extension of that is love. It's not."

"Hormones again?" She was one step ahead of him.

"Yes." He finally looked down at her where she lay, covers pulled up, her hands folded on her chest, looking back up at him so innocently.

"It's okay." She smiled at him. "You don't believe in it. You have that right. And I have the right to love you if I want. I wouldn't have told you at all except that after what happened today, waiting here, not knowing if I would see you again, I just wanted you to know. It was important to me that you know."

"Okay, so you told me. Now what?"

"Nothing." She giggled. "I honestly don't want anything from you. I didn't tell you that expecting to push you into a corner and force you to say things you don't mean. I'm not playing any games here. I just love you. So deal with it."

It was true. He could see it was true. She wasn't playing games. She really didn't expect anything.

"Claire, if you keep saying that you love me, I'm going to have to stop fucking you, okay?"

"Jack?"

"What?"

"I changed my mind. I hate your guts."

They looked at each other for a moment and then he dissolved into laughter.

* * *

Charlie was driving around Gotham aimlessly. He had too much on his mind. He should go home, check in with Cha Cha, not that she would be worried. But she would want to know all about the day's events, especially about the Joker. It was funny. He wasn't good enough for someone like Janice but he wasn't **bad** enough for his own wife. Cha Cha loved the bastards – the true, psychopathic pricks, like her ex, all tucked away in Blackgate for life, for rape and murder. And men like the Joker. Charlie would classify himself as an alpha male, like the boss, but he wasn't tinged with that particular brand of frenzied insanity that some women just found so irresistible.

The Joker. There was a dilemma. Charlie knew that he had to decide how he was going to approach this latest wrinkle in his association with the Painted One. He had committed an error today, in the Joker's eyes. And, as demonstrated today, in the spectacle of Midget being blown to the consistency of dog food and spread all over about a square city block, there would be retribution. You didn't disappoint the clown without a spectacular send-off. No one quit on the Joker. They just got reassigned - to the next dimension.

"Fuck that." Charlie huffed as he drove, looking in the rear view mirror, expecting at any moment, the sirens and the lights. He remembered a conversation he had with the brunette, Joker's woman of the moment, back at the tenement. She had asked him, rather accusingly he thought, if he would ever kill the Joker for money. He had said no; that he would only ever take him out in self-defense.

There was one glaring aspect to his whole train of thought. And it was Leo; a little boy with a useless mother who was emotionally unavailable due to her inability to put anyone ahead of herself and a biological father, doing a life sentence at Blackgate. Charlie wasn't that attached to this miserable, disappointing thing called 'life' but he knew that if his presence in this world had any value at all, it was about Leo. That kid needed someone in this world to be in his corner. And that someone, was himself.

He thought of Leo being raised alone by Cha Cha and that thought made him formulate a plan. In the morning, he would go and see the Joker. He would go on the pretense of apology. He would go armed. First chance to get off a shot and the Joker would no longer be a problem for anyone. Since it was certain that the clown would take him out eventually, it was self defense. He wasn't going to wait around like that poor putz, Midget, until the Joker could come up with some entertaining way to kill him.

He remembered Janice's words at the Armory.

"Like putting down a rabid dog."


	26. Chapter 26  Life Is Short

**_Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing. _**

**_I hope no one minds that some of the secondary characters are beginning to be fleshed out and they are gaining stories of their own. I haven't forgotten who are the king and queen in this chess game, so don't worry. Let me know what you think about it by reviewing. _**

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty-Six_

_"Life Is Short"_

It was 9:00 o'clock in the morning when Charlie finally arrived at his third floor apartment on Dixon Street, near Robinson Park. He found Leo sitting in front of the television, in his pyjamas, eating a bowl of cereal and watching an old movie on the classics channel.

"Pop!" Leo jumped up onto his feet, excited to see him. "Where were you last night? Mom is pissed."

"Don't swear." Charlie pointed a parental finger at the eight-year-old, dark-eyed, dark-haired boy he considered his son. "Why aren't you in school?"

"Mom needs me to run errands." Leo responded matter-of-factly. "Did you hear about the explosion yesterday? The Joker? Whoa. That was one hell of a blast."

Charlie looked at him, closed his eyes, and waited.

"Heck." Leo corrected himself. "One **_heck_** of a blast."

"Where's Mom?" Charlie changed the subject abruptly.

"Bedroom, I think." Leo went back to his movie and cereal. "Glad you're home, Pop. I was getting worried."

"Didn't mean to worry ya." Charlie tussled the boy's hair playfully as he passed him to go and look for his wife.

He found her at the back of the spacious apartment, in their bedroom, still in her nightgown, lying on the king sized bed, reading a magazine. He walked in and closed the door securely behind him to keep their conversation private from Leo. The boy had no idea what he did for a living or that the Joker of Gotham's generous pay days were keeping all of them in a style they had, previously, been unaccustomed to. Leo was caught up in the public's fascination about the Joker, like most boys his age. There was nothing more intriguing to a young boy than someone raising hell and getting away with it.

Cha Cha looked up from her reading. He noticed how rested she looked. Not at all like a wife who might have been up all night worried about the fate of her husband involved in a very dangerous heist, not to mention explosion.

"Where you been?" She said in a bored fashion, batting her eyelashes as if to indicate she was really less than interested anyway. "They said the Joker got away ….. again."

"Oh really." Charlie walked over and pulled the magazine out of her hands in a abrupt manner that startled her. He flung it against the far wall. She looked up at him, affronted, dark eyes squinted in barely concealed fury.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't worry yourself at all whether or not **_I_** made it out of there alive." He leaned down and she cowered back a little into the pillows. "As long as **_he's_** safe. You know, you might miss the paycheck if I was blown to hell. Did you ever think about who's going to support your little ass if I'm not around?"

Cha Cha huffed and moved over to the other side of the bed to get to her feet and put some distance between herself and his temper. "I could sell some of my art. You really don't give me much credit, do you?"

He took a good look at her. She had her long black hair woven up on her head in her customary style that she had done every three days at the salon downtown, her nails were long and perfectly manicured, and her make-up was flawless. She was the kind of woman who turned heads and caused traffic accidents; beautiful latina with a figure that she now considered perfect since she had her boob job. He thought it made her look cheap and cartoonish but there was no denying she was an attractive woman to any man with one thing on his mind. Right now, Charlie had other things on his mind.

"Why isn't the boy at school?"

"I need him to pick up some things for me today over at the art shop and a few other places." She crossed her arms across her newly enhanced breasts in a defiant manner.

"He's not your errand boy."

"Don't start with me, Charlie."

"What did you say?" He was beginning to realize that there had been something big seething for a long time now. Something in his chest like a dull ache, nudging at him to give it expression. It was a feeling that he couldn't put words to or he would have told her by now. But it was there, bubbling, festering, ready to pop. "What did you say to me?"

"I said don't start with me." She repeated and took a few steps around the bed to challenge him. He had never raised a hand to her. She wasn't afraid of him that way. "Don't start pushing my buttons!"

Charlie blinked at her for a few seconds and then hit his forehead with the heel of his hand, like something had just dawned on him.

"Ooooohhhhhhh…..why didn't you tell me? You have buttons! You mean, all this time, all I had to do was push a button?" He got a little closer and she rolled her eyes at his sarcasm.

"Stop it."

"Oh, no." Charlie shook his head and reached out to take her chin in his hand, making her look at him. "No, we're just getting started. Now where are these buttons, Cha Cha?" He looked around her torso and poked with a stiff finger into her ribs and on her breasts, as she flinched and pushed him away in annoyance. "Where's the "make a meal" button, or the "be a decent mother" button? And I **_really_** wanna know where the "fuck your husband" button is. That one's out of order, I think."

"Stop it, Charlie!" She was more insistent now and frowned as he continued to poke at her as she slapped his hands away.

"Christ. Here I thought you were just a lazy, self-absorbed, high maintenance, cold, little bitch. And all I had to do was push a fucking button." He stopped poking her and just stood there, at a loss of how to get her to see his side of this. To see how much she took without ever giving – anything – in return.

"That's a hell of a thing to say." She pulled a pout now. "Why would I want to fuck you when you talk to me like that?"

"Well, I got good news, Baby." He told her with a wry smile, his temper dampened, his mood lightened at the realization he had just had.

"What?" She looked sideways at his sudden change in demeanor.

"You don't have to fuck me anymore."

"What?" Now she looked wary. "You're not going to threaten to leave again, are you? You know you'll never see Leo again if you abandon us."

"**_You_**." Charlie corrected her. "I would be leaving you – not _**him**_."

"He's not your own. He's not your blood. You have no claim to him." She stood up straighter now, confident, as always with this approach.

Charlie wasn't up to a repeat of an argument that occurred so often lately, he could repeat it line by line. She had him where she wanted him. Here. Where he would continue to pay the bills. She knew he would never call her bluff where Leo was concerned. It was beginning to dawn on him just how evil this threat was. He was the only father that Leo knew. He was there through the pregnancy and on the day he was born; it was Charlie who cut the cord, and watched him learn to walk and talk. He paced the floors with him as an infant, in the middle of the night, through ear infections, teething, and bad dreams. Just because the biological father was on death row, seemingly years from execution, and wouldn't allow Charlie to adopt "his blood", all bets were off when it came to any possible parental rights he had.

"I'm going to catch a shower and then I have to go out for a while. When I get back, I want all your shit out of the spare room. Your easel, the paints, and all the rest of that crap – gone. That is **_my _**room now. Oh, and get some fresh bedding in there and air the place out. The place smell like turpentine."

Her eyes got wide, incredulous. "Who do you think you're ordering around?"

"My wife. My dear, doting, spouse." Charlie sneered sarcastically. "The one who's going to earn her keep around here from now on."

"Are you going to see the Joker?" Cha Cha steered around any agreement to perform chores for him today and went to a topic she found a lot more interesting. "Are you getting paid for yesterday?"

"You better not count on the big pay days anymore from the Joker. I fucked up yesterday." He nearly laughed out loud at the look of undisguised fear in her eyes.

"He's going to fire you?"

"If I'm lucky." He gave a feeble laugh.

"Apologize." Cha Cha stepped up close now to ensure his attention. "Just grovel if you have to. Promise him anything to make amends."

"You don't know what you're talking about, believe me." Charlie was remembering the last time he saw Midget, driving that hummer, wired for a one-way ticket to hell, completely oblivious to the fact he only had minutes left to live. The Joker had "fired" him, all right.

"No, I mean, maybe I should come with you." Cha Cha grasped the sleeve of his jacket now and he twisted away from her. "I mean you should promise him, anything." She looked at him meaningfully.

It took a moment for him to understand what she was insinuating and he shook his head, letting his breath out slowly.

"You just never give up, do you?"

"Well, it's the least I could do if it smoothed things over for you, for us. I'm thinking of our future…."

"No, you're thinking you'll finally get to fuck him."

"No. I was thinking maybe I could save your ass." Her frustration was obvious and her motive transparent. He enjoyed watching her get so close to what she wanted and being able to pop that little bubble of fantasy right under her nose.

"The Joker is being well taken care of right now by a very classy woman who seems to have him completely focused on her. The last thing he'd want right now is cheap, easy, sloppy seconds."

He waited just a beat and then timed it perfect to duck and miss her white-knuckled fist that swung out to clock him.

"Close, baby, but those new boobs seem to be interfering with your aim." He baited her, actually chuckling now, as she slapped him on the shoulder and the chest, wearing herself out until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, frustrated and about as pissed off as he had ever seen her.

"I hate you, Charlie." She looked to be on the edge of tears. "You can be so fucking mean."

"Mean?" He stood beside the bed, looking down at her. "I'm doing you a favour. Do you have any idea what kind of freaked out, psycho ward, grade A, classic nut job, the Joker really is?" Charlie leaned down to get her attention and she looked sideways at him, the first tear starting to pool in the corner of one perfectly lined and shadowed eye. "He's got loose nuts and bolts rolling around in that head of his. He's unpredictable and would kill you as soon as, or maybe in addition to, fucking you. Or he might just decide to carve you up like a pumpkin because, well …. because it's Friday. No reason, no rhyme, nobody's home behind those blacked out eyes."

Years ago, it was her need to be taken care of that had attracted him, pulled him into a crazy relationship with a woman, still married at the time, to a man sentenced to die at Blackgate and three months pregnant with that man's child. Her situation was bleak but she could make Charlie feel like a rock star when they started living together and eventually welcomed Leonardo into the world; they got married as soon as she was free. She never really took to motherhood but Charlie didn't mind, he could fill in that gap for Leo, as long as he felt important in her eyes. He was appreciated and the abundance of sex made up for any other shortcomings. Then at some point, she seemed to get bored. She needed more excitement than even his occupation could provide. He had committed the cardinal sin, in her eyes, of becoming too predictable, too humdrum , her everyday man – no excitement – when compared to someone like the painted prince of Gotham.

He turned to leave and she reached out and grasped his pant leg from where she sat on the bed. It wasn't hostile, just insistent.

"Charlie, you didn't mean it, did you? You're not going to stop sleeping here with me, are you?" Her voice was like honey, purring, seductive. "Forget all this craziness. Forget about going to see the Joker right now. Come to bed, Charlie. I'll make you feel better – _**so**_ much better."

But something had happened. Some important piece had clicked into place. Where once he would have given in to this tactic, taken the pleasure for what it was worth, it now just left him feeling sad.

He looked at the bedside clock.

"I haven't got a lot of time, Cha Cha. I meant what I said. I'm staying here for Leo. I'll take care of things just like I always have but I'm done with us as a couple. You can do what you want, see who you want, fuck who you want. Makes no difference anymore."

"But I want **_you_**."

"That road's closed, Baby." Charlie pulled his pant leg free of her grasp. "Get Leo ready for school. I'll drop him off on my way over to see His Purple Highness."

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat in front of his computer and read and listened to the news reports, at full volume, in the aftermath of the heist and explosion at the Armory. Three soldiers dead, two henchmen dead, and one soldier, the female, taken hostage and traumatized to the point that she, apparently, had wandered around all night until she finally ended up at her apartment early this morning, remembering nothing that happened after she left the Armory in the custody of the Joker and an unknown, unnamed, henchmen, disguised in a balaclava. She could offer no details about this man or what transpired between herself and her abductors, in the van.

"Post Traumatic Stress Reaction." Alfred commented, reacting to the report as he laid out tea and sandwiches.

Bruce frowned.

"Oh I **_am_** sorry, Sir." Alfred apologized quickly, realizing that Bruce's hearing was still significantly impaired from the explosion. He spoke up, loudly, forming his words carefully. "Post Traumatic Stress Reaction!"

Bruce nodded, gesturing to his ears with frustration.

"I hope they're right that my hearing loss is temporary or you'll be hoarse from shouting. I'm sorry."

"Not at all, Sir. Just so happy to have you here in one piece."

Bruce frowned again and rolled his eyes.

"I said…!" Alfred began but Bruce waved him off.

"It's okay. You know, I still can't understand why the Joker warned me about that hummer." He picked up a sandwich, pulled the slices of bread apart to check out the contents and then began to eat it, contently. Alfred smiled at the habit, something he had done since boyhood. "I mean, he gave up a clean get away and put himself at risk just to tell me to back off. Just when I think I understand what motivates him, he throws me another curve, and I'm lost."

Alfred cleared his throat to speak loudly this time.

"You are much better off not understanding something as dark as the Joker's mind. But I do think he sees a certain challenge in your interactions and he does like games. He was assuring himself of another chance to play. It may be just that simple. Not complicated at all."

* * *

As Charlie sped towards the tenement, after dropping Leo at school, he mentally went over his plan of what to do when he met with the Joker. He hoped he was alone. That would make this easier. If he could just keep him engaged while he apologized, it would give him time to get a clean shot off and end this thing. He took no personal pleasure in plotting the murder of his boss but since he felt certain he would meet a fate similar to Midget's in a time of the Joker's choosing, this was self defense. Leo needed at least one person in the world looking out for him. Joker had no one depending on him. He was more expendable. It was just that simple.

The truck radio played the news report and everyone was talking about Private First Class Janice Minsky and her sudden reappearance after her harrowing experience as Joker's hostage yesterday afternoon. He had to smile when the news reporters explained how traumatized she was because she couldn't even remember where she had been the night before or offer any details whatsoever about her abductor. He reached in his pocket and took out a matchbook with the Night Owl Motel logo on it, a souvenir from their brief time together. He knew that she, maybe more than most, would be glad to hear that the Joker had been killed. And he knew that he was risking very little in terms of arrest or punishment if he were ever identified as the killer. He could give any reason for taking the clown prince out and it would be more than sufficient to walk free. It amazed Charlie that this guy had lived this long. There were so many who would love to pull that trigger.

He pulled his truck up into the courtyard just yards from the kitchen entrance and patted his chest where his holstered magnum rested, in wait, and slipped a hand into his right jacket pocket to feel the glock, loaded, safety off, ready to go. He made a mental note of the knife in his boot and went over every possible scenario he could think of, every possible way the Joker could attack. He knew the Joker would prefer a knife fight. He usually liked to deal out his form of retribution up close and personal – Midget was the exception – and knives were his preference. Charlie knew he was no match for a knife in the Joker's hands so he would have to shoot before he had the chance to threaten him with a blade. He took a few deep breaths, pushed his longish hair behind his ears, and then jumped out of the truck to get this over with.

The door was unlocked and when he opened it he was subjected to a sight that threw his mind into a tailspin. He wasn't alone. **_She_** was there. They were having breakfast. A huge breakfast by the look of the items strewn on the stove and countertop. He could smell fresh coffee. He looked at the table where the Joker was seated with his back to him, dressed casually, in jeans and plaid shirt with a grey vest. His hair was less green than usual. In fact, it looked nearly all dark blonde.

"Morning, Charlie." Claire greeted him from her spot across from the Joker where she was eating eggs and toast and Charlie noticed that there was a chess board between them on the table. They looked to be in the midst of a game while they enjoyed their morning meal. The Joker didn't turn to greet him.

"Are you speaking to that traitor? The one who left me stranded ?" The Joker's voice was the usual nasally whine he could put on when he was pissed off, but still he didn't look in his direction.

Charlie didn't know what to do. He hadn't counted on her being there. And she was looking nervously from him to the Joker in a way that put Charlie even more on edge. Something was wrong here.

Then she seemed to get a silent order from the Joker because she looked at Charlie and nodded at him and at the empty chair waiting.

"Please, sit down." She said a little breathlessly, watching him very carefully.

Charlie frowned at her, confused now about how he could execute his plan now with her as a witness. He went ahead to the chair offered and sat down. He turned to confront the Joker and that's when things got surreal.

The Joker wasn't there. In his place, was a very young, slender man, pale to medium complexion, deep brown eyes, and a face, unlined, unblemished, aside from the two crooked scars that snaked over each cheek in cruel relief.

It was a shock to his system as Charlie took in the full reality that this young man, sitting at the table, was the Joker. And it occurred to him that Cha Cha had been right all along. Under the paint, despite the scars, this guy was a looker. There was a sense of nobility in the curve of the nose and without the black paint surrounding them, the hooded eyes were sensitive and expressive. He grinned and displayed the callow teeth that were not nearly as menacing without the crimsoned mouth. The hair was clean and ran more to curls than the stringy mat he usually sported with the green dye; the forehead was unlined without the covering of cracked white paint. So young. Much younger than Charlie had guessed.

"Ha, ha." The Joker gave a dry laugh. "Now he's worried, hmmmm? Now I've let the cat out of the bag. What could it mean? I've let you see my true identideeee. Is it a good sign or a bad sigh, eh, Charlie?"

The voice was the same. No doubt who this man was. Charlie's mouth had gone too dry to speak. He fingered the glock in his pocket absent-mindedly as he tried to make sense of the huge difference between killing a painted murdering psychopath versus the young man before him.

"Where's the peace sign?" The Joker referred to Charlie's standard greeting.

Charlie lifted his right hand from his pocket, uncomfortably, since it meant distancing it from the glock, even for a few seconds, and poised his fingers in the familiar "V" shape, wanting things to appear normal, not strained. He could feel Claire's eyes on him. He was being scrutinized.

The Joker took his fingers off his black bishop and raised his right hand but instead of returning the peace sign, he slowly, with a diabolical grin, raised his middle finger in an altogether different sentiment.

Charlie hastily returned his hand to his pocket. Claire watched him do this with more interest that it warranted, on the surface. She finally spoke again.

"Coffee, Charlie?" She offered sweetly with that cool British accent.

He didn't answer but she got up to fetch the pot that was done brewing.

"You do **_not_** serve coffee to the men." The Joker looked at her with disapproval and she turned from where she was standing by the counter, pot already in hand, as he explained to her. "You can fill my cup but he can serve himself."

She didn't argue. Instead she made her way over to fill the mug by Joker's right hand as he watched her with a look that could only be described as unabashed affection. She glanced nervously again at Charlie as she put the pot down beside the chess board, on a trivet that was waiting. And Charlie noticed that she had picked up something on her trip to the coffee pot; the small, pearl-handled gun that had been gifted to her by the Joker. She quietly lay it down by her left hand and then she gave Charlie a stern look. A look that told him her instincts were to protect this young man and that she understood what a danger he was to that young man at this moment.

"Have some coffee." She said pleasantly, looking more relaxed since she had added a new wrinkle to the events playing out.

"No thank you, Miss."

"Her name is Claire." The Joker grabbed the sugar bowl and a spoon to prepare his usual morning caffeine sugar speedball. He looked at Charlie but nodded at Claire, in a silent order for him to correct himself.

"No thank you …. _Claire_."

She said nothing. She continued watch him in a tense and observant manner. He noticed she was wearing one of Cha Cha's dresses – the brown one with the square neckline. He never liked it on Cha Cha but it looked very good on Claire. Her dark hair was down in free flowing long waves that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Dark intelligent green eyes watching his every flinch, her makeup was understated but the kohl around her eyes gave her an exotic appearance. She was a lovely woman. Charlie looked between the two of them for a moment or two and realized that they were, together, a very attractive couple. He with his height, rangy build, blonde colouring offset by dark eyes and she, petite, fine-boned, ivory complexioned with dark, nearly black, hair. What was their connection, he wondered. He knew she knew this young man from before but what was the previous relationship that had blossomed into this fierce alliance? It was clear to everyone at the table that she was ready to drop him if he gave even a hint that he was here to do the Joker an ounce of harm.

The Joker noticed the gun now by Claire's hand and put the spoon down as he took a deep breath and let it out in an exasperated manner.

"Look? See?" He called for Charlie's attention. "She thinks you're here to settle the score before I can settle the score."

Charlie felt two sets of eyes on him now and sweat began to bead up a little under his hairline. The Joker continued.

"And I told her, listen. I told her not to worry because when it's my time, it's my time. How often do I say that, Charlie?" Joker looked around the room like he was addressing a small crowd, not just two other people.

"A lot." Charlie felt compelled to answer.

"And I told her that I could understand why you were derelict in your duties in the middle of the action yesterday. I put you in a bad spot. You had a decision to make and you made it. And now you have the nerve to show up here this morning, like nothing happened."

Even without the paint, the stare was the same. The Joker could stare in a way that made you feel he could read everything about you and wasn't too pleased with what he read. Charlie had to look away.

"You got guts, Charlie." The Joker surprised him. He looked at him again. "And you're not stupid. Not like Midget."

Charlie wondered what was really happening here. He looked over at Claire who was listening intently, he noticed a slight tremor in the graceful fingers now brushing the pearl on the handle of the gun. The Joker continued to explain his actions for him.

"What you did wasn't planned. You acted in the moment and you fucked up. It wasn't anything personal, right?"

"Of course not."

"I still want you to work for me, Charlie."

With his right hand still in his pocket, Charlie could feel the coolness of the glock, as he brushed the tip of his finger against the trigger. He looked into the unadorned face of the Joker, at the young man behind the paint, as vulnerable and human as any other. He brought his finger up against the barrel and clicked the safety back on. Then he brought his hand out of his pocket and ran it through his long brown hair and sighed in resignation.

"I won't let you down again."

Claire sat back in her chair, hand moving away from the gun and off the table. The worry, however, did not leave her face as she looked over at the Joker. They seemed to communicate silently for a moment with a few glances between them, before he spoke again.

"Claire, it's alright. It's all good here. Why don't you run along and work for a while. I've got some things to discuss with Charlie, here."

She turned to Charlie with a question in her eyes. He looked back at her and nodded that all was well. Whatever the connection between this woman and the Joker, it was something powerful. Charlie tried to imagine Cha Cha, at any point in their union, defending him and protecting him, like this, and it was laughable. He wondered if the Joker could understand or appreciate the level of devotion that this woman was demonstrating.

"Claire?" The Joker's tone was a little more insistent.

She stood up and gave Charlie one more look before looking over at the Joker and pointing at the chess board that was being abandoned in the middle of an evenly matched game, each side with four pieces of each other's men confiscated.

"Don't you tamper with that board." She warned him sternly but with a playful expression in her beautiful eyes.

"I won't." The Joker put up his hands innocently. "It would take the fun out of beating you later."

"Cheeky." She summed him up neatly and then turned and left the kitchen in bare feet, taking a mug of black coffee with her.

Both men watched her disappear around the corner and then the Joker started spooning sugar into his mug of coffee.

"Do you play this game, Charlie?" He gestured to the chess board with his spoon.

"Nah. Never learned."

"You should. You should make sure that boy of yours learns. It prepares you for life. It's strategy, problem-solving, psychology, all in one." The Joker spoke passionately.

"Why the castle and the kings?" Charlie took note of the pieces. "And the horse?"

"It's war." The Joker explained with pleasure. "This game was invented for medieval kings to play, in the lulls between the battles, to keep their stragetic thinking sharp. It is, literally, two armies; the black and the white, facing off against each other."

"I'll give it some consideration." Charlie finally agreed.

"Good. Good. Now, tell me what transpired between you and our little hostage – the fair Janice." The Joker tasted his coffee, frowned and then proceeded to add more sugar.

"I took her to a motel."

The Joker stopped shoveling sugar, his spoon loaded but hovering in mid air and raised his eyebrows, impressed.

"Way - to - go!"

"No, no. She didn't want to go home because she wasn't ready for the pressure and the attention of the police and the press so I checked her into the Night Owl for the night. I ordered her something to eat and then I left."

"She's feigning PTSD, you know." The Joker pointed out. "She's letting on she doesn't remember a thing about you. _**Me**_ – not so much. She's telling them every detail. It's like she's got a photographic memory for all **_my_** crimes and misdemenours. I swear she made some of it up. But she can't remember you – at all. Strange, hmmmmm?" He waited for him to share his impression.

"She …. " Charlie hesitated and the Joker leaned in, anxious for an explanation. "I think she views me as her protector."

"Yes." The Joker agreed dryly. "You scored that point when you dumped me on my ass at the Armory in favour of keeping her alive."

Charlie went to explain but the Joker cut him off.

"You two were a complete distraction yesterday. You'd need more than a chemistry set – you'd need a whole fucking **_lab_** – to concoct the kind of voodoo shit going on between you two during that operation. I swear I was getting a hard on just watching the two of you."

"I don't know what it was." Charlie offered up lamely and the Joker rolled his eyes in despair.

"So, you take this attractive woman, one who sees you as her hero, who clearly is turned on just being in your general vicinity, and you, what? Leave her alone at a motel with beds and shit?"

"I didn't want to take advantage. She's a nice woman. She's had a rough time."

"Charlie, I got a newsflash – are you ready?"

Charlie nodded, knowing it was coming anyway.

"You do not live forever. Get it? Understand?"

He didn't reply. But he was listening.

"You get one life. You don't know when or how it will end. In our business, even more of a crap shoot, you know? And in that time allotted, you are obligated to capture every moment of pleasure offered to you. Otherwise, you are wasting the time you've been given and really, you don't deserve to live. That is all."

Still, Charlie didn't say anything.

"Crib notes for the above." The Joker concluded, to make it simple. "Life is short-t."

* * *

Later that day, Charlie had concluded his visit with the boss and was on his next assignment. He was on his way to a bar in the Narrows, called the Penny Dreadful, where he was fairly sure he could find, or find someone who could direct him to, Thomas Schiff. The Joker was ready to take Schiffy into the operation. Charlie was to locate Schiff and deliver him. Knowing that Schiff had spent time in Arkham with the Joker, it was a certainty that Thomas had seen the side of the Joker that Charlie had met today – the unpainted version. He had heard that they had taken away his paints in the asylum. And he was ready to reveal his lodgings to him as well. It seemed the Joker trusted Schiff completely. Charlie wondered if he could ever be as loyal as that. In a strange way, he almost felt ashamed at his thoughts earlier today – of murdering the Joker in cold blood. He even wondered if that was the Joker's motive for making an appearance without the paint – to put him off any plans he had to take care of him before he could lower the hammer. He didn't put it past him. The man was brilliant. And Charlie wondered about his advice. Life is short.

He pulled the truck over at one of the last remaining payphones in Gotham, outside the liquor store by the Narrows Bridge. He stepped into the booth. The glass was shattered on all sides, evidence of the type of citizen who favoured this part of town. He picked up what was left of the tattered and stained telephone directory and paged to the "M's", not really expecting to find what he was looking for. But there it was. It had to be her. J. Minsky – 559-4423. She lived at 60 Paisley Place, near Grant Park. He rifled through his pockets and found some coins. It would be a miracle if that phone worked. It looked so beaten up and the metallic chord was knotted in a few places. He dropped the coins and punched the numbers and waited. It rang three times and he was about to hang up when he heard her voice.

"Hello?" She sounded glum, despondent. He got all of that from that one word.

He went to speak and stopped. He frowned at the receiver in his hand, wondering what the hell he was doing. He was taking it from his ear to hang up when she spoke again.

"Charlie? Is that you?" This time her voice was lighter, hopeful, almost bright.

He took a deep breath and gave in, took the plunge.

"Yup."

"I was hoping you would call. I had no idea how to reach you. I don't even know your last name."

He was confused at the relief in her voice.

"Are you okay? I was calling to make sure you were okay." He kept his voice steady. Sure, that made sense. That was reasonable.

"I'm fine. I didn't tell them anything about you."

"I know. Thank you. You didn't have to do that." He was speaking more naturally now, feeling more comfortable, remembering her eyes, her mouth, the way her eyebrows quirked upwards in that adorable way.

"Charlie, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I'm sorry. I know you're married and it's wrong, but, I can't stop."

"Was it hard, with the cops? The questions?" He didn't know how to address what she had just said.

"The cops? No. They're idiots." She hesitated and said more softly, less sure of herself. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yup."

Silence again, as he felt the strange power of the attraction, even just hearing her voice; the spell had not been broken.

"I'm sorry." Her voice deflated. "Forget what I just said."

There was a silence that hung in the air like an empty thought bubble in a cartoon, waiting for someone to fill it in.

"I don't want to forget what you just said." He went with the truth.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Will I see you again?" Her voice was soft and pleading.

He couldn't believe this mood, this irrational "thing", had survived beyond the events of yesterday. The magic was still there.

"You sure?" But he smiled, knowing he couldn't stay away.

"Now." She said breathlessly.

"I can't. I'm working right now." He told her gently, regretfully.

"Tonight, then."

"Okay."

"I live at…"

"60 Paisley Place." He finished it for her and she laughed. It was the first time he heard her laugh and it was charming.

"Apartment 6E. Just buzz. I'll let you in."

"Eight." He mentally calculated how long it would take to have a meal with Leo and get him off to bed before he could meet her.

He ended the call and stood there for a moment, looking around at this wasted and polluted part of the city, a little amazed at what had just happened. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so absolutely alive. The smile wouldn't leave his face. She had protected him from arrest and took a chance lying to the police – for him. In the last two days, they had each looked out for the other, for a perfect stranger. He had to find out what force, what inexplicable and unspoken bond, had made them feel the need to do that. Life was short as the Joker had told him. And it was also full of wondrous surprises – like Private First Class Janice Minsky.


	27. Chapter 27 60 Paisley Place

_**Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing. **_

_**Sorry for the delay on this one. Couldn't be helped. The muse failed me for a while. Blame it on Charlie. He wouldn't speak to me until I gave him a last name.**_

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty-Seven_

"_60 Paisley Place"_

Charlie located Thomas Schiff in a back room at the Penny Dreadful, playing pool with some local hoodlums from the Narrows who had suckered him into a bet on a game that he was ill-equipped to play, never mind win, as the young thugs were dropping pool cues and banging on the walls and shouting to each other to elicit the twitches and flinches that Schiff had no control over. He had broken out into a full sweat as he tried to concentrate in the midst of what must have been for him, torture to his fragile nervous system.

It was a strange fact that the Joker's men had orders to defend Schiff and deal with any antagonists harshly. The young mental patient was the only one, so far, to Charlie's knowledge, who had the Joker's full protection.

The three young criminals did not appreciate Charlie interrupting a game and losing them a bet that was all but in the bank. Even though they were three to his one, they were no match for a man without fear and seasoned in dealing with the likes of them or the glock that appeared out of nowhere that he pointed all around, daring them to make a move, on himself or Schiff. He called their bluff and they tossed their cues onto the table with disgust, Thomas jumping at the clamour like he wore his nerves on the outside.

"Ch…Ch…..Charlie!" Schiff grinned, grateful for his arrival and rescue from a situation he all too often found himself in these days. Life outside of Arkham Asylum was full of people and happenings that left him confused and disturbed. He knew he was supposed to be happy to be back in the world but if he could tell the truth, he would say he missed the regularity and predictability of the institution.

"The Joker wants to talk to you." Charlie jumped up and sat on the edge of the pool table and took out a cigarette, offering one to Schiff who put up a hand to decline as he put his head down, shuffling his feet nervously, as he was prone to do. "I'll take you there." He lit up, and took a puff. "You ready to go?"

"He wants to talk to me?"

"I think that's what I just said." The henchman had little patience for Schiff. He couldn't see what the Boss saw in him at all; the nervous tics, the shoulders hiking up, eyes shifting suddenly to the left and right, paranoid as hell, and the constant tossing of his long black bangs from his eyes – hard, dark, sharp eyes – that reminded him of a bird of prey.

"Is he alright? I mean I saw what happened yesterday at the Armory – on the news."

Charlie sighed in frustration. "Would he be asking to see you if he wasn't? Com'on. Don't have all day. I'm not a man of leisure like you." He gestured to the games room they were in.

That made Thomas bark a laugh. " I have no choice. No one will hire me."

"Joker might." Charlie stated matter-of-factly as he took a moment to take the white ball in his right hand and aim it at a cluster of balls that promptly clacked together and disappeared into three different pockets. Charlie chuckled with satisfaction, surprised by his luck.

"He always said that when he had something for me to do, he'd send for me." Thomas sounded almost hopeful.

"Must be your lucky day." Charlie mumbled around the cigarette in his mouth. "Let's go."

"I'll follow you. I have a motorcycle now." Schiff said proudly, pointing to a black helmet with flames painted on the side, sitting on a chair by the door leading out to the bar area and pulled some black leather gloves from his pocket.

"Good for you." Charlie offered up dryly, wondering how in hell this guy could ride a cycle when he probably had trouble getting himself dressed in the morning.

* * *

Janice had been pushing furniture around her tiny living room, rearranging the few pieces she had for the last hour; trying to make the room look bigger, or more elegant, or more _anything_. She never had anyone to her apartment. It was small and in poor repair beacause of a landlord who wasn't absent in body but always in mind, due to a bad pot habit. The army reserve paid lousy wages and she had been holding out until Michael had arrived back from Iraq. Then they were going to finally get married and pool their meager resources to find a better rental situation a little further from the worst parts of Gotham.

Of course, Michael's unfortunate early departure from the world of the living had left her right where she was – at 60 Paisley Place – with bad plumbing, ratty carpet, and rooms so small, she could see almost everything she owned in the world from any spot in the apartment.

She was beginning to feel a little panicky about what her eight o'clock visitor might think about her station in life. She was feeling self-conscious and this was out of character for her. She rarely cared what anyone thought and refused to be judged by anyone. But this time, she wanted to make a good impression. For him.

She went into the bedroom and pulled the dark green spread from the bed to use as a throw on the sofa, taking a moment to look around. It would be dark by the time he arrived. The place would look better softly lit. Candles. That was it. She needed lots of candles. She took a breath and let it out slowly, willing herself to relax.

She glanced over at her reflection in the mirror on the bureau. Her very long auburn hair was loose and looking a little untamed. She wondered what she should do with it. What should she wear?

And, for the first time since he had called, she asked herself what was really going on. Why had he called? Did he want a one night stand or was there something else he wanted to explore? She knew she would take whatever he was offering and give him anything he wanted. Married man or not, she wasn't about to let anything get in the way of what she felt was the greatest attraction she had ever felt for any man, including the dear, departed Michael. She felt some guilt for a wife she didn't know and for her fiancé, still so recently deceased, to be lusting after a man she barely knew. But, she could push all that aside if there was any chance that she could get closer to Charlie.

Her life had always been so ordered, so focused, so goal-oriented. She let out a little splutter of a laugh at the thought. The ridiculous notion that you could plan anything when fiancés could be blown to bits for no good reason, your own life threatened by a lunatic like the Joker, co-workers murdered in front of you and your place of work transformed into a smoking black crater – life was chaos and nothing was for sure. You had to grab what you wanted and hang on until the ride was over because whatever lurked around the next corner might take it all away again.

* * *

When Charlie and Thomas Schiff walked through the kitchen door at the tenement, the Joker was just entering, carrying a large textbook, his finger tucked inside for a bookmark. His face was still bare of war paint as Charlie had found him this morning. The kitchen was clean and Claire was nowhere to be seen.

Schiff removed his motorcycle helmet and tossed his bangs out of his eyes, looking at the man he had spent so many hours with on the inside of Arkham Asylum.

"Schiffy!" The Joker bust out in a grin that stretched his scars to the limit. "God damn it's good to see you. What's with the helmet? Charlie's not _that_ bad a driver." Then he erupted into giggles at his own joke. Charlie offered his usual peace sign in greeting but the Joker did not return it. So, he went to lean on the sink and watch the reunion taking place.

"I've got a bike." Schiff buffed the helmet with the edge of his black leather sleeve. "My uncle died and left it to me."

"It's an Indian. Beautiful ride." Charlie offered from where he leaned. But the Joker acted as though he had said nothing, his total focus on Thomas.

He tossed the text book onto the kitchen counter nonchalantly and Charlie glanced casually at the title. Something about psychopathology and genetics.

"Come, sit." The Joker held out a chair for the new arrival. Thomas shuffled over and put his helmet on the table, looking around the kitchen with interest. He was about to sit down when his gaze was drawn to the door way.

Charlie followed his line of vision to find that Claire had appeared there. She looked apprehensive about entering the room in the presence of this stranger.

The Joker turned to see what they were looking at and smiled.

"Kitten." He said softly, seductively. "Come here Sugar Plum. I've got someone I want you to meet."

Claire hesitated and looked to Charlie who looked away, studying his fingernails, like he could care less. She took a few steps into the room, looking at Thomas warily. "I had a bit of a headache. I thought I would see if you had anything – you know aspirin?" Her voice was tired and her brow was mildly furrowed, registering some pain.

"Claire." Joker reached out and grasped her hand to draw her closer. "This is Thomas Schiff. We were in Arkham together. He was my confidante and my loyal friend."

Charlie stood up a little straighter, listening with interest to the Joker using the word "friend". It seemed an alien concept for someone who bragged about having no friends and that friendship was a false pretence based on selfish motives at best and dark intentions at worst.

Thomas was staring. He was rooted to his place by the table, his gaze absolutely riveted on the small, dark-haired woman who was standing with the Joker. And that accent. So pure and perfect. He felt like he was seeing an angel – in real life.

"So nice to meet you." Claire said softly, stepping forward to offer her hand to the dark young man, who looked both intrigued and frightened.

The Joker cleared his throat to break the spell.

"Ah, Schiffy? The lady is offering her hand?"

"Oh!" Thomas shook his head and tossed his bangs out of his eyes, and held out a trembling hand to take hers. He turned her hand over and bent his head to plant a kiss on the back of it, just like in the movies, when royalty held out their hand to a subject. "S…s….so glad to make your acquaintance." He stood up again and looked pleased he had managed to get that out.

Claire drew her hand back and looked at the Joker who gave a little giggle of pleasure obviously pleased at how things were progressing. A little bewildered by Shiff's demeanor, she looked to Charlie who had a look of complete and utter disgust on his face.

It was obvious to Claire that this young man, Thomas, was mentally fragile. She watched his dark eyes finally leave her to dart around the room, almost as though he was listening to something no one else could hear. He nodded as though to respond to the voice and then turned his attention abruptly back to her.

"Are you a friend of J's?" Thomas used the more familiar name for the Joker and Claire noticed Charlie's look of annoyance out of the corner of her eye.

The Joker spoke before she could respond.

"Claire is a guest of mine." He put an affectionate arm around her next to him and looked down at her for a moment. She smiled at him and he smiled back. "And….yes. She _is_ a friend."

"You're from England." Schiff looked at her with awe. "I always wanted to visit the…the….Tower ….of ….. of London."

Joker could see Schiff's intensity was making Claire nervous. He didn't want her to be nervous around this man. He wanted them to be comfortable with one another. He had put a lot of thought into this Thomas Schiff thing and he wanted it to go well. Schiff was completely loyal to him. If he told Schiffy to jump off of a twenty story building he would do it – twice – if he could. This was just part of the reason he wanted to have this odd young man introduced to Claire. He had realized fairly quickly after she had arrived back in his life, that when she left his world, he would need a go between. For those times when reaching her, contacting her, would be impossible. He knew incarceration or re-commitment to Arkham, even for a little while, would be a certainty. He needed someone he could trust to communicate with her when he could not. And the beauty about Schiffy was, even if he told everyone he knew about Claire, about the Joker, about anything, really…. no one paid any attention to him. Everyone assumed that anything Thomas Schiff said was completely delusional. Their secret, their relationship, whatever it turned out to be after she left, would be absolutely safe with Schiffy as their go-between. There was no one else who could accomplish this.

"Listen, Thomas, I have a job for you." He tried to turn the conversation away from the young man's fascination with Claire and her country of origin.

"Really, J? I'll do anything. I'll be responsible and reliable and always ready to serve."

There was a snort of laughter from Charlie, reacting to the over-exuberance expressed by the new recruit. It was met with a weary and warning glance from the Joker.

Charlie stood up straight from his lean and shrugged his shoulders in a mildly apologetic way.

"I'm sorry. It's just it sounds like a boy scout pledge or something."

"Were you a boy scout, Charlie?" The Joker asked in a bored tone.

"Shit. No." Charlie scoffed at the thought.

"Schiffy here, is expressing his loyalty to me. Loyalty. Loy – al- teeee. Should I spell that for ya, Charlie?"

Charlie looked back at him. The Boss. Even without the war paint, that stare could curdle milk. He wasn't going to let the incident from yesterday fade away too quickly. Charlie knew he had a way to go before he would be trusted again. It pissed him off more than he could understand. Why should it matter if this twisted, psychopathic, train wreck of a man, had a negative opinion of him?

"No. I get it."

"Oh goody." The Joker grinned without mirth and then turned his attention back to Schiff.

"You can cook, right?"

"I can!" Schiff's eagerness to please was off the charts.

"Would you like to cook for me? Well, for us?" The Joker gestured to the stove and well-equipped kitchen, his arm still around Claire who leaned in against him, rubbing her forehead.

"I told you I can cook." She said softly.

"No, no. You're a guest." He argued gently. "I want you relaxed and care free while you're here. You are the lady of the mansion. You do not cook."

Then he noticed that she had her hand to her forehead. He leaned down and said quietly.

"I'm sorry your pretty little head hurts, Crumpet, but maybe pills aren't a good idea right now, hmmmmm? He raised his eyebrows, hinting at something he didn't want to say out loud.

She reacted immediately noticing that Charlie was listening with renewed interest. "Of course. You're right. Not good, perhaps. I'll be okay. Maybe I'll go have a lie down."

He purred in her ear.

"You run along and I'll be up soon with a more natural remedy for your headache, Sweetums."

She put her head down, embarrassed by his suggestive comment, conscious that they were being watched and possibly overheard.

Schiff turned his head suddenly, eyes shifting left to right, his hand poised in the air as though to draw their attention. All three watched. All three waited.

"I'll make ang…ang…angel food ….cake. For …for the …. the angel." He nodded at Claire.

"That's good." The Joker quickly agreed and stepped between Schiff and Claire to shield her from Thomas' renewed interest and intensity. "You're not taking those pills anymore, are ya?" He asked in a conspiratorial tone.

"Oh no, no." Schiff insisted, shaking his head in earnest. "I remembered what you told me. About the poison – the brain rot."

Charlie cocked his head in a questioning way and noticed that Claire was doing the same thing. It was so obvious that this young man should be on medication.

"Good, good." The Joker slapped him on the shoulder. "Be your own man, Schiffy. Be who you _**are**_. They just want ….."

"To control me." Thomas finished the sentence; it was clear they had gone over this topic many times.

* * *

It was three minutes to eight when the buzzer went off. Janice had been waiting by the intercom but still jumped at the sound. She took a deep breath and pushed the button.

"Yes?"

"I'm here." The sound of his voice made her close her eyes for a second, hardly believing it was true.

"Come up." She pushed the button that unlocked the entrance, holding it down long enough to ensure he got in okay. And then she waited on the sofa, her hands fidgeting all over her lap, mentally estimating how long it would take him to make it up the twelve flights of stairs to the sixth floor because there was no working elevator.

He must be fit because it was fast. There was a knock. Not a definite knock. More of a tentative one. She waited a few seconds so he wouldn't know how anxious she was, and then sprinted across the room to the door. When she opened it, he was leaning against the frame, casually, like he was waiting for a bus. He offered a peace sign as a greeting, his eyes down. She smiled and awkwardly flashed one back, unfamiliar with the finger positions. He was dressed in a black suit jacket over a black shirt, black jeans and his beat up combat boots. He had shaved. There was none of the stubble she had noticed yesterday as though he had gone a few days without seeing a razor and his hair was freshly washed, shiny, chin length dark brown locks tucked behind his ears. He glanced at her for a second with those quick grey eyes and then looked to the side and then down, kicking his left boot against his right one, awkwardly.

She waited a moment and then reached out and grasped his arm gently, urging him through the door because it didn't look like he was going to make it on his own. Once he was inside, she closed the door quietly and looked at him again. Still he didn't make eye contact. He just stood there, leaning against the wall, examining his boots.

She watched him go to open his mouth to speak, struggle with raising his eyes to hers and failing, and then it dawned on her what was going on. He was shy. This alpha male, gun-toting, hell-raising bad guy was shy. She had thought she noticed it yesterday when they were alone in the truck, but now she was sure.

If anything was going to happen here, she was going to have to take the initiative.

"You shaved." She teased him, trying to get him to look up.

"Um….yeah." He did glance up for a moment and grinned. It was the first time she had seen him grin and she noted that he actually had a dimple in his left cheek when he did so.

Her chest constricted. Good God this was a handsome man. His slightly grungy appearance yesterday had been attractive to her but now, freshly groomed, with that hard, lean frame clothed in casual, almost preppy, attire, he was utterly devastating.

"Are you hungry? I have some pasta in the kitchen." She spoke softly as though speaking any louder would cause him to bolt.

"Um…..no. Thanks." He looked up again and noticed the room bathed in candlelight. This seemed to peak his interest. "You forget to pay your electric bill?"

"No. I just thought it was nicer. I like candles." Then she noticed that he was staring at her as though he had just noticed her there.

Charlie was taking a good look at her. Private First Class Janice Minsky. The girl soldier who had stood up so well through an ordeal that would have had any ordinary woman in tears, helpless with fear; this woman before him now bore no resemblance. Her titan hair was loosely twisted into some sort of low elegant bun with tendrils teasing the sides of her oval face. That face. The eyebrows were the same, quirked up like she was asking a question, but the hazel eyes were lined softly in violet that matched the soft, figure clinging calf length dress in swirls of violet, green and pink, in a soft amorphous pattern. The neckline was modest but the material was semi-sheer and clung to her soft curves, accentuated by the soft candlelight that bathed the room. She wore pale pink leather flats that reminded him of ballet slippers – just as her graceful neck had reminded him of a dancer yesterday in the midst of all the carnage and chaos.

"Christ. You look amazing." He blurted it out as his attention turned to the soft pink of her full mouth, widening into a smile.

"So do you." She got a little closer. He still hadn't moved from the door. "Do you want to come in and sit down?" She reached out and touched his right hand. It immediately closed around hers and she felt a thrill that nearly made her knees buckle.

She led him over to the sofa and he sat down, not letting go of her hand so that she sat down beside him. He turned to her now and looked into her face intently.

"I'm sorry for yesterday. I'm sorry you had to go through that." He meant every word. "Do you still have a job?"

"I'm on indefinite sick leave." She smiled. "They are concerned about my memory loss. You know, how I can't remember anything that happened last night until I showed up this morning?" He nodded, once again reminded how she had lied to protect him. "And there is the little matter of no building to work in – the Armory is gone."

"You'll be re-assigned."

"Yes. At some point. They'll find another place for me to work until the Armory is rebuilt."

"So, for now, you've got some time off." He concluded. "Paid time."

"Yeah, I'm okay for now. Thank you, again, for saving me from that monster."

At her mention of the monster, Charlie thought about the Joker, the way he looked this morning, without the paint. Would she think he was a monster if she could see him in that state? He pushed the thought from his mind.

"You wanna go out? I can take you anywhere you want to go. A movie? Ice cream? You look so pretty, it seems a waste if I don't show you off."

"I can't go out right now." She frowned. "There are still some snoops from the news who will ambush me if I leave this building. They're out there, waiting. They want an interview."

"Oh." He understood and was secretly very pleased that he would have her to himself.

She smiled and looked at her hand in his. "Charlie?"

"Hmmm? "

"I'm so glad you called. You have no idea how much I needed to see you again."

"I'm sort of surprised you wanted to see me." He noticed how delicate her hand was in his. "I thought you said nothing would happen because I'm married."

"That was before." She moved in closer, one hand on his shoulder now, as she let her fingers weave into his with the other.

"Before what?"

"Before you walked out on me." She bit her lip and struggled to explain. "When we went into that motel room, I meant what I said. I had no intention of allowing you any closer. Because you're married. But something happened when we were talking. I don't know what, exactly. I think it was when you were talking about your son. And when you suddenly just stood up and walked away, slamming the door the way you did, I panicked. I nearly lost my mind. Because I don't even know your last name. I was convinced I would never see you again. It was awful. Even after all the terrible things that happened yesterday. The people who died. All I could think of was my God, just please let me see him again."

Charlie had been listening intently. It was slowly dawning on him that she was giving him permission to cross the line.

"And here I am." He concluded her thought for her.

"Yes you are." She gave him a glorious smile. Then she stood up and moved over to a stereo unit on the far wall to load a CD and push play. The sound of Savage Garden's Truly, Madly, Deeply filled the tiny space at very low volume. Just enough to feed the mood.

She turned and put her arms out to him in an invitation. "Come dance with me, Charlie."

"Oh no, no. I can't dance. Hopeless." He smiled in spite of himself, watching her start to sway a little, still coming toward him, arms still waiting. "I'll break your toes." He warned.

"Ah, com'on. It's a slow one. All you really need to do is stand in one spot and sway to the music. I'll show you the rest." She had reached him where he still sat on the sofa, looking very intimidated.

He was reconsidering. It was a natural way to get her into his arms. To get close. There was a definite tension in the room that he knew was the unspoken need for them to get closer, to move into the next dimension, the one he could barely think about without finding it difficult to breathe.

She nodded, encouraging him. He stood up and allowed her to coax him into a loose embrace to get started.

"Just relax." She moved in closer and spoke into his ear. "That's perfect. See? Now, let go a bit, move, just a little. There - you got rhythm. You're a natural."

It felt wonderful; his arms around her waist, her slender arms around his neck. She responded to the tightening of his embrace by laying her head against his shoulder. They barely moved, just enough that it could be called dancing.

"So, what's your last name, Charlie?"

"It's Beaufort."

"Charles Beaufort. It sounds aristocratic. You're French?"

"Somewhere, a few generations back, I guess so, yes. And while we're on the subject, how can you be a Minsky?" He nodded at her fiery-coloured hair. "I mean, if that's natural. Minsky? Really?"

"It's natural. My father, my real father, was Irish. He died when I was four and my mother married Harry Minsky. A nice Jewish man. He adopted me."

This information was hitting much closer to home for him than she knew. He let one arm slip a little lower to rest around her hips, the other hand stroked the small of her back as he deepened the embrace. He considered what she had just said and frowned.

"I hate to think of you losing your Daddy so young."

"No, it's okay. Harry is the father I remember; the one who raised me. He was very kind and treated me like a princess."

"Was?" Charlie picked up on the past tense she was using.

"He died last year. My mother the year before that."

He nodded and stated the obvious thing that must be on her mind.

"Everyone's been dying on you lately, huh?"

"Yeah." She sighed, paused, then looked at him playfully. "You sure you want to get involved?"

He laughed. It was the first time she heard him laugh. He was so serious she was beginning to think he had no sense of humour; that life had squeezed it out of him.

When he regained his composure, he leaned in closer and put his forehead against hers, watching the candlelight dance in her dark eyes. He could see her breath rate ticking upwards with the quickened rise and fall of her lovely bosom.

"I'm not a good man. I'm someone you should probably run far, far away from, Janice."

"Hmmmm…" She watched his mouth, savouring this closeness, needing much more.

"I need to end my marriage but it's very messy, and well … complicated. I've got a kid, and I'm not free to be anything substantial in your life."

"Hmmmm…." She could feel the heat from his body as she was reminded how strong his arms were. She had already felt him hold her, the day before, when the Joker had pushed her to him and he had caught her. Firmly and surely.

"I'm moody." He brought a hand to her chin and stroked it softly. She rubbed a palm against his chest, appreciating the firm, solid feel of him.

"Seems like you don't want to go through with this." She looked up at him, attempting to understand what he was trying to tell her.

"No." He brushed her lips with his thumb and then took a deep breath. "Yes ….. this is difficult."

She spoke to him gently. "I don't want to complicate your life any more than it is." She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his shoulder again, as the dance went on. She could feel something hot stinging her eyes at the thought that this was the closest she would ever get to a man who for some unfathomable reason, she felt was meant to be hers.

She moved to look up again at him, to tell him it was okay. To end this before it began. To remove any pressure from him. When she went to speak, his mouth came down to cover hers in a kiss that felt like a blessed relief. They both sighed into it, renewing it deeper and deeper until the dance stopped and the embrace turned intimate, having nothing to do with the pretense of dancing any longer. He walked her backwards until she was against the wall, pressing into her urgently as he let basic need take over. All inhibitions melted away.

He put one arm firmly around her hips to keep her pressed against him. His other hand covered a breast, enjoying the sensual softness, detecting that she was braless beneath the light fabric of her dress. He kissed her neck and her cheek and then took her mouth again, tasting her tongue as she opened up to him, eagerly. The kiss lingered and deepened until she finally broke it to speak.

"Charlie…" She tried to get his attention as he placed his hand on her thigh, starting to move the fabric up. His hand slipped under the hem and travelled up to her hip where he encountered some satiny panties. "Charlie!"

"What?" He stopped and looked at her like someone who had just been woken up suddenly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She chuckled, pushing some of his disheveled locks behind his ear. "I have a bed."

"What?" He frowned, mildly confused and then he understood." Oh." It dawned on him that she was suggesting they get more comfortable if this was the direction things were going. "Are you sure? I mean, this is going awful fast. You want me to slow down?"

She smirked and traced his mouth with a fingertip, lowering her eyes as though she was about to divulge a secret.

"I didn't sleep last night. The cops kept asking me, over and over again, what I did all night." She looked at him and bit her lip.

"Yeah?" He had no clue where this was going but he played along. "I didn't sleep either. I drove around all night." He looked into her hazel eyes and noticed a playful glint. "What **did **you do all night in that motel room by yourself?" He was curious now.

"I did something I haven't done in a long time." She looked away, breaking eye contact. "And I thought about you the whole time. I fantasized about you when I …" She put her head down and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, too shy to look at him. "I couldn't tell them that."

"You mean?"

"Uh … huh." She looked up into his eyes again, searching to see if she was expressing herself clearly. "Is that too much information?"

"No." He renewed the embrace and rubbed his nose against hers and grinned. "It's just the right amount of information."

She grabbed his hand and led him up the short hallway to her bedroom that was bathed in candle light like the rest of her apartment. As he came through the doorway, he suddenly backed up against the door and quick as a blink, he drew his glock from its shoulder holster inside his jacket and aimed at the figure that seemed to have loomed up in the semi-darkness against the light from the curtained window. Janice clasped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at his mistake.

"That's just Suzy." She sat on the edge of the bed as she watched him sigh in relief, seeing clearly now what had startled him. "She's my sewing dummy. I use her for alterations. She's the same size as I am."

"Just surprised me, that's all." He looked sheepish as he returned his gun to its holster inside his jacket. "I'm always thinking someone's following me. It's part of this job – this life. I'm sorry if I frightened you."

She got up from the bed and moved over to the tailor's dummy that rested beside her vintage sewing machine in its antique walnut cabinet. "You nearly shot Suzy. She doesn't even have a head. Charlie, you need to relax." She gave him a crooked smile.

"You sew?" He glanced at the bulletin board with fashion drawings and designs and the shelves over the sewing machine, full of stacks of different fabrics. She did a little turn for him to display the flowing dress she had on. "I like to make things."

"Wow." He was impressed.

Janice moved over to where he stood by the door. She pressed a hand to his chest and nuzzled his neck softly.

"You're not going to bring that gun to bed, are you? I mean, unless, you're into that sort of thing."

"Are you?"

"Not this week." She pushed her hands inside his jacket to urge him out of it. "May I unwrap you now?" She teased.

"Oh…that reminds me." He reached into his jacket again, feeling around for something. He patted around from pocket to pocket and then groaned with despair. "Noooo! Leo….noooo!"

She frowned in confusion.

"My cigarettes. He's been taking my cigarettes out of my jacket lately and he hides them. He wants me to stop smoking." Charlie leaned back against the door and closed his eyes, apparently very distraught.

Janice smiled. "Leo? Leo is your son?"

He nodded.

"They're just smokes, Charlie." She put her hand against his face to get him to look at her. "I probably have some stashed somewhere from when I still smoked. I'll rustle up a couple for you." She said reasonably.

"No. You don't understand." He put a hand on her shoulder and looked at her like he had some very bad news. "I had two condoms tucked in with the cigarettes. Now Leo has them. Not that they're any good to him since he's eight years old and he won't know what they are anyway."

She started to laugh.

"It's okay." He told her earnestly. "I'll just head out and get some. Where's the closest place?"

"You don't need to if you don't want to." She was still laughing. "I'm on something. I've been on it for years. I'm irregular and it's the only way to keep my cycle straight."

"Really?' He sounded more than relieved. "But you don't know me very well. You sure?"

"Do I have to worry?" She had stopped laughing, sensing his seriousness.

"No."

"Then it's okay." She was getting a sense that this was a very serious man. He could smile and laugh and appreciate a joke but something told her that the circumstances of his life at the moment did not give him much time to have fun or just let loose. Maybe because he had a son. Maybe that's where this air of responsibility came from. It was charming and at the same time she longed to bring him some lightness, to see him relax.

He reached for her, and she went eagerly into an embrace, anxious to bring him pleasure. She had never before wanted to be wanted by a man this much. Michael had been her lover for over ten years. They had started having sex as teenagers. Yet she could not remember a time when she had ever needed him with the intensity that she felt for Charlie right now. Lust didn't even get halfway to describing the physical attraction that had distracted her from even the horrendous events of the previous day when all around her was death and destruction and her own life seemed to be destined to end. Even in the midst of all that, she had felt the powerful draw toward him.

It was all kinds of wrong. He was married. He was a criminal. He was in the Joker's circle. She was only recently bereaved of Michael. She had lied to the police.

He moved in and kissed her mouth softly, lingering there, as though savouring it like the last bite of a delicious desert.

"Now that you're actually here." She pushed her hands into his hair and kissed him back. "I don't have to do everything myself – not like last night." She smiled.

"Did you really do that?" He squinted his eyes a little suspiciously. "Honest?" The thought of her pleasuring herself with him on her mind was one of the biggest turn-on's he could think of.

"Three times."

He moved his hands over her shapely bottom and squeezed as they started a slow walk, while embraced, towards the bed.

"I want you to show me exactly how you did it."

* * *

Claire entered the kitchen, returning an empty coffee mug to the sink where Thomas had prepared a lovely supper which she and the Joker had enjoyed alone, in her room. Thomas had cleaned up the kitchen better than it was before he arrived and left for the night to return in the morning and take over full kitchen duties from the recently departed Midget.

The Joker was seated at the table, very still, as she walked by, talking as she made her way to the sink.

"I have the chess board set up. I'm ready to show you something very interesting in the opening." She decided to clean out the mug so she ran the water. He didn't respond. "I was thinking. Perhaps I could teach you all I know about openings – not that I didn't try thirteen years ago – and you can coach me in the endgame." There was still no response so she turned.

"Jack?"

Nothing. From where she was standing, by the sink, she could see him, sitting unnaturally still, staring into the distance, hands on the table in front of him, the right one quivering with a mild tremor. His face was calm with a rather blank expression - for him. Something unpleasant rippled up her spine as she started to approach.

"Jack? Darling? What is it?" She tried to keep the panic out of her voice as she fell into the chair beside him, afraid of this silence. "Jack!"

He was gone. He was there but he was gone. He didn't hear her or register her presence. She was afraid to touch him and startle him. Her mind raced. She couldn't call emergency services. There was no one else here. Thomas had left. Charlie was out. She leaned on the table to look into his dark eyes. They were open and he blinked occasionally but they were fixed on some distant point – she was invisible to him.

She watched his chest to make sure he was breathing alright. It rose and fell normally. No sigh of distress. She ached to touch him but instinct told her not to. So she just sat for what felt like hours but was actually only a few minutes until he suddenly reached forward with his left hand and brought it down hard on the tabletop in front of him as though he were stopping himself from falling. He blinked hard a couple of times and then his features relaxed as he moved his head in a gentle shake as though emerging from a stupor. He noticed her there, studied her, and gave her a sleepy smile.

"Hey there, Beautiful." His voice was warm and relaxed. "From the look on your face, I think I just had a moment, didn't I."

"Oh my God." She let out a sigh and moved toward him, crawling into his lap to put her arms around him.

"No, no." He pushed her arms away. "I'm fine." He hated a fuss.

"But _I'm_ not fine." She protested. "Let me. Please."

He sighed in resignation and she cradled his head against her chest, combing his dampened dark blond curls away from his pale forehead with her fingers, anxiously. "Tell me what I can do. I want to understand." She murmured to him softly, as she kissed his forehead. "What was that, Jack?"

"Apparently, according to the docs at Arkham, they're seizures. I don't have them often. Not to worry."

She could feel him fighting the embrace a little, trying to pull back but she held on. She wasn't ready to let him go yet.

"That didn't look like a seizure to me." She said doubtfully.

"I know. It's a different kind. Focal, I think they call it. Quiet. I just sort of drift off the planet for a few minutes." He pressed a hand against her arm to loosen her grip a little. "At least I don't thrash around and piss my pants. Claire, I can't **breathe**." She loosened her embrace a little and he giggled as he took a good look at her cleavage, in his face. "I mean, I love the _view_ - but I can't breathe."

"Who did this to you?" She finally let him go but remained on his lap, her hands on his shoulders, looking at him, worriedly. "Bloody bastards." He smiled at the expression she used. He repeated it, accent intact.

"Bloody bastards – love the way you talk." He smacked his lips and ran a forefinger down the silky valley between her breasts, enjoying the low-cut dress that was strained a little by her ample assets. "But I don't know the who or the what or the where or, more importantly, the **why** for my current state of fucked-up-ness."

"Therapy, Jack. Medication?" She wanted to make him better. Make up for all the wrong that had ruined the perfection of his youth.

"No medication!" He looked at her as though she had lost her mind. "That is probably at the root of this whole thing. No more needles, pills, shock therapy, talk therapy, prescriptions, potions, psychiatrists, psychologists, neurologists. You were in that place. Have you forgotten how evil that shit is?"

"No, no." She shook her head, ashamed at what she had suggested. "I'm sorry. I _do_ know. I'm just so desperate to help you. I was just trying to….."

"It's alright." He softened his tone and reached out to grasp her chin to make her look at him. "It's alright."

They were quiet for a moment and she leaned in to put her head on his shoulder as he held her in a loose embrace, letting his fingers drift up and down her forearm in a gentle caress.

"Where do you go – I mean where is your mind when this happens?" She asked softly.

"I don't know, Sweetheart. I'm just – away." Then he cleared his throat. "Listen, maybe this isn't such a good idea for you, hmmmm? I mean, wanting to have a baby with someone as damaged as I, obviously, am. Maybe you should stick to your plan for the medical student in the thermos."

"Stop." She sat up straight in his lap to look at him, seriously. "Yours is the only child I want. I've decided that if we can't make a baby, then I don't want one. This is my one and only chance and you are the only one I want to father my child." She used a fingertip to trace the smaller scar on his bottom lip – the one that fascinated her. "You're perfect."

"Yes I am!" He declared and she burst out laughing. "So let's go upstairs and I'll make a donation to the cause right now."

"Thought we were going to have a game." She teased , reminding him about the chess board all set up and waiting.

"It'll have to wait, Kumquat. I feel a tremendous urge to procreate. Have you been using that thermometer I got for ya?"

"Of course. But it's too soon. We have some time yet." She squirmed in his lap at the thought of going upstairs with him. "I'll let you know when the optimum day is here."

"Maybe it will never arrive and we will have to go on fucking into perpetuity." He said solemnly, like it was a grave responsibility.

She gave him a suitably serious look and nodded. "I can think of worse things, actually."

Then they both burst out laughing.


	28. Chapter 28  Cabin Fever

_**Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing. **_

_**Good news and bad news. Bad news first. I will be unemployed after this coming Friday. Well, actually, it's semi-bad because I really hated the job. The good news is – I'll have more time to write!**_

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty-Eight_

_Cabin Fever_

""

Janice flicked on the kitchen light because it was still dark at six a.m. She moved around as quietly as she could so she wouldn't wake Charlie. He had asked her to set the alarm for six thirty to be home before his son woke up. He said that the boy tended to worry when he wasn't there in the morning.

She smiled to herself as she set up the coffee pot and pulled out a pan to prepare some eggs. That was a sweet thought. A little boy worried about a grown man. It endeared her to Leo without even knowing him.

The fact that Charlie had stayed the night was a surprise. It wasn't even discussed. He just settled in and slept beside her all night. Well, not much sleep was actually had, but, he was there.

Janice thought about things she had read about why women like bad boys and alpha males despite the heartache they can bring with them – they are usually very good in the sack. This was certainly true of Charlie.

All the shyness he had displayed initially, evaporated, once they made it to the bedroom. At that point, he took over, initiated everything and was completely uninhibited when it came to sex. He was an enthusiastic lover to say the least.

By contrast, Michael had been a sensitive, considerate lover. And it was lovely. But sometimes Janice used to fantasize what it might be like to be "taken", not by force - but _forcefully_. Now she knew. Charlie went at it like she was the last woman in the world and it was his last chance to get laid. She had never felt so much a woman as she did this morning. Her hips actually ached a little from all the action.

Physically, Michael had been getting a little soft around the middle. Janice didn't really mind. Sex was something that was nice but nothing to write home about. She was satisfied with her soldier boyfriend and their underlying long-term friendship was the main thing for her.

Charlie was older than Michael but he was hard-bodied. The shoulders she had admired the first time she laid eyes on him were revealed in all their glory once the clothes came off. He was lean and super fit; something she imagined was essential for him in his line of work. That hard belly against hers was something different for her and immensely exciting.

Their first session had been full of urgency. She had come almost immediately when he entered her as the anticipation had been so arousing that actual contact finished her off. They had fallen asleep together in a tangle of arms and legs since they were both exhausted from no sleep the night before.

She was awoken a couple of hours later to his nuzzling and kissing and submitted to him for a second session that was longer but still highly passionate in intensity. She was allowed to finish them both off with her on top, looking down at him in the moonlight, his hands gripping her hips tightly – still in charge.

Afterwards, they had showered together, washing each other's hair and bodies with gentle hands. It was odd but his shyness returned at that point when she was taking care of his more intimate parts. It seemed he only lost the shyness when his libido hit high gear. It was just one more thing that intrigued her about him.

There was very little conversation during their encounters aside from sweet murmurings and some dirty talk that they both seemed to like. Yet, they were communicating with touch and when their eyes met during the height of pleasure and in the way he explored her body with a kind of reverence she had never experienced or expected; soft kisses trailing after gentle fingertips.

She took out a few slices of bread to toast, and leaned against the counter, lost in her thoughts. A sleepy voice disturbed her from her reveries.

"I smell coffee."

She turned to deliver a beautiful smile. He was leaning in the kitchen doorway, half-dressed in his jeans but his black shirt was still unbuttoned and he was bare-footed.

He moved over to where she was standing against the counter, dressed in a pink camisole and pyjama bottoms, her hair loose and still damp from the shower earlier, falling around her shoulders in russet waves. He put an arm around her waist and leaned in for a kiss. She put one arm around his neck and rubbed his chest with the other, teasing her fingers across the small script tattooed above his heart – the name "Leonardo". He nuzzled her neck, pressing closer.

"How do you keep so fit?" She asked in wonder, kissing his ear.

He pulled back and looked at her as though he wasn't sure what she was talking about.

"This." She pushed against his hard abdomen and caressed a shoulder to illustrate.

"Oh." He moved away now and went over to sit at the small table set with dishes, ready for breakfast. Orange juice was already poured. He pulled his socks out of the back pocket of his jeans and started to put them on. "Push-ups. Military style push-ups. One hundred a day."

"That's all?"

"Yup. Gotta keep in shape. Have to be able to run away fast."

She smiled. As if he ran away from anything.

"That reminds me." She moved back to the stove and began to crack eggs. "What was your rank? You never told me."

He looked at her for a moment as if considering and then just sighed.

"Captain."

Her eyes widened a little. "Army?"

"Marines."

Janice put down the spatula and snapped to attention, barefoot, but saluting in perfect fashion.

"At ease, Private." He played along, rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh.

She saluted again. "Sir. Yes sir!"

"Knock it off, Janice." He had to smile. She could be a total goofball. And he really liked that about her. Along with all the rest. Good things about Janice Minsky were just piling up faster than he could keep track. This breakfast for instance.

"How would like your eggs, Captain Beaufort?"

"Over easy." He ignored her teasing. "You didn't have to go to the trouble."

"No trouble." Janice flipped the eggs. "A man's got to have food in his belly for the day ahead."

Charlie couldn't remember that last time Cha Cha had made breakfast. It was such a treat to wake up to the smell of fresh coffee and toast. He took a sip of orange juice and relaxed. He watched her move around the tiny kitchen expertly, pouring coffee, buttering toast and moving the frying pan off the burner the moment she felt the eggs were done.

"What are you doing today?" She asked conversationally as she brought the coffee and toast over and placed it in front of him while she took his plate to get the eggs.

"Well, it's Saturday." Charlie took a sip of black coffee. "This coffee's great. I used to be a carpenter before the military, and I like to keep my hand in. I rent a little work space downtown and take Leo there to show him the trade. I want him to learn something useful. I promised him we'd spend a few hours tinkering around the shop."

She delivered the eggs and then took a seat across from him, buttering her toast. "So he'll be up early, ready to go."

"Oh yeah. He likes the tools. I won't let him use the power stuff until he's older but he's got good hand skills for his age. He's working on dove tail joints already. He's making a small box for his mother."

They looked at each other. The mention of his wife seemed to come out of nowhere like an unpleasant odour. He winced.

"It's okay." She said quietly. "I know he has a mother. And that she is your wife." She tried to reassure him but the words "your wife" actually made her a little queasy. She felt a strange anxiety taking hold.

"Look." He reached across and grasped her hand so that she looked at him. "Cha Cha and I have had a fairly open marriage. Well, open when it suited her. She usually keeps me on a fairly short leash."

"Cha Cha?" Janice blinked. "That's her name?"

"Yup."

"It's a nickname, right?"

"No. It's on her birth certificate." Charlie smiled at the expression on her face. "She comes from the weirdest family. They're all Latino bohemians, they all shout instead of talk and they have no personal boundaries to speak of. Leo seems to have fallen far from that particular tree, which is to say, he's normal, so I'm grateful."

"Open marriage." Janice mulled that one over as she moved to take his hand in both of hers. "More for her than for you?"

"I didn't want an open marriage. It was her idea so I went along for a while but after Leo was a certain age, I started insisting that we better straighten up and fly right. For his sake, you know?"

She nodded, still grasping his hand. He kept on, trying to explain the state of his marriage.

"I told her yesterday that we're done as a couple. I can't leave her right now and I'll explain it to you when we have more time, okay?"

"Of course." She let his hand go sensing that he was uncomfortable with this particular conversation. She turned her attention to the food in front of her.

"Janice?"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain." She couldn't make eye contact. The anxiety was swirling around her stomach making her eggs look like something vile at the moment.

"I will." He said carefully. "I want to."

"How are your eggs?" She changed the subject and finally looked at him, putting on a fake smile, hiding her upset as best as she could.

"They're great." He searched her eyes, trying to gage just how much he was fucking this up. "_You're_ great."

When he left, he had not offered a phone number. He explained that he couldn't carry a cell. Joker's orders. He could only carry a mobile when they were planning or executing a job. The Joker was paranoid about cells being used to track him and his employees. She couldn't call him at home for obvious reasons so that left him making his departure with only a promise to call soon. A promise much too vague to offer her any reassurance, despite the lovely good-bye kiss and gratitude expressed for a wonderful night and breakfast.

Janice had closed the door behind him at precisely seven a.m. and then collapsed on the sofa, feeling nauseous from the dark dread that had seeped into her chest during the last five minutes before he left. He wouldn't call. She would never see him again. She was sure of it. And the day ahead was going to be hell to get through.

* * *

Claire had awoken to the sound of Schiff's motorcycle arriving bright and early. She guessed that the Joker was already up as she could hear faint laughter coming from the bottom floor. He appeared to be an early riser, that is, if he slept at all. She didn't know, of course, because she never actually slept with him. After the sex, he never hung around for much longer than to make sure she was staying on her back for the twenty minutes necessary to encourage pregnancy. He might stay and chat or play chess but when actual sleep time rolled around for Claire, he departed to go to his own area of the tenement, to be alone.

It didn't bother her as much as it might have because she understood that he needed and wanted that private time to himself. It had nothing to do with her, personally. She had a few moments when she wondered what it might be like to actually be with him at night and watch him sleep, but she knew better than to push the issue. While they were getting along very well these days, she was under no illusion that it was because he had softened in any way. It was like Charlie said. She hadn't done anything wrong yet. She was obedient. Sure, she could push him on small matters and he would give in; like allowing her to touch him more, to accept her show of affection, outside of sex, because she needed to be able to connect with him. Even if he felt no such need, he gave in. But on the larger issues, she accepted his terms. She knew her time with him was to come to an end and that fact made her compliant as she wanted what time she had with him to be peaceful.

She entered the kitchen dressed in her favourite borrowed dress from Cha Cha – the pale yellow one; it was a sweater dress, turtle neck, long sleeved. Her dark hair was half up in a knot, the rest tumbling down her back casually.

The Joker was seated at the table, still unpainted, dressed in the brown corduroy suit she loved over a green shirt and brown vest. He looked at her and grinned. It was strange, she noted, that she didn't seem to notice his scars much anymore, even if they were still there, prominent to the less familiar eye.

"Baby doll - you look like a slice of lemon pie. A very _sexy_ lemon pie."

Schiff was already at the stove and the kitchen was filled with the aroma of coffee and pancakes.

As she got closer to the table, she noticed that the Joker had Schiff's bike helmet in his lap, tapping out a tune, known only to him, on it with his fingertips.

"Good morning Thomas." Claire greeted Schiff who looked over at her nervously, nodding his head with something close to reverence.

"Morning Miss Claire."

"Morning Miss Claire." The Joker imitated him and smirked at her. "Want some pancakes? They're chocolate chip. My fave."

"I guess so." Claire sat down, sensing that he was in a very silly mood this morning.

"Hey – get a load of this." The Joker picked up the motorcycle helmet and held it above his head in his hands. He moved his head from side to side for her inspection. "Scars." Then he moved the helmet down over his head into place and blinked at her through the open visor. "No scars."

It was true. The helmet covered up evidence of his identify perfectly.

"Well, that's interesting." She agreed. "But you can't eat your chocolate chip pancakes in that thing."

He rolled his eyes inside the helmet and tried to speak but she interrupted again.

"And you can't brush your teeth in it." Claire felt like teasing him.

"Or smoke a cigarette." Schiff chimed in.

"Can't stick out your tongue out at anyone." Claire took a turn.

"Or shave." Schiff came over to the table with coffee.

Joker looked from one to the other and blinked.

"Are you two a team now? Taking this act on the road?"

Schiff broke out into giggles and Claire smiled at the young man's uncharacteristic show of mirth.

The Joker took the helmet off and shook out his wild hair. "But I could get around town in this get-up without anyone noticing my defining features. That's the point. In case you missed it while you were performing your little comedy routine."

"We know." Claire laughed at his grumpiness. "We were just winding you up."

"Winding me up?"

"Having fun with you."

"You have some strange expressions my little British butter tart."

"Maybe a burka." She seemed to be thinking it over.

"Or a paper bag!" He sniffed, showing his frustration. "I'm sick of sitting around here. Aren't you? I want to take you out, change of scene, date night. Wouldn't that be nice? Hmmm?"

"Oh no!" Schiff put the coffee pot down on the table and put his hands into his hair like something terrible had just occurred to him.

"What is it Thomas?" Claire looked truly concerned. The Joker sighed, a little bored, used to Schiff's over-reaction to just about everything.

"I forgot tea. You're English. You must have tea." He looked at her as though he had insulted her beyond any possible acceptable apology. "Forgive me."

"Yeah, it s a tragedy." The Joker said dryly, inspecting the motorcycle helmet more carefully.

"It's okay. It's really okay." She turned to Thomas and gave a little laugh to illustrate how unconcerned she was that there wasn't a cup of tea waiting for her. "Listen, do you want me to show you how we make tea in England?"

Schiff's face lit up like a candle. "Yes. Oh, yes."

"Ah…" The Joker watched Claire stand up to accompany Schiff to the stove. "Right after I get my pancakes. Schiffy? Pancakes?"

The kettle was switched on and Claire delivered a plate of pancakes to him, noticing that Schiff had poured the batter to form a little "J" on top, and a pitcher of syrup. He rewarded her with a contented smile. Before she could move away, he captured her hand and drew it toward him, turning it over and kissing the back softly as Thomas had done yesterday in his flustered state.

Claire looked at him, one brow cocked in confusion, wondering if he was ridiculing her or Schiff with the gesture, but before she could question it, he explained.

"Schiffy had it right. That is how you greet a lady. A _true_ lady."

He was sincere. It was in his eyes. And it nearly took her breath away. That simple gesture and the statement that went with it. She didn't know how to respond.

"Go." He shooed her with his hand. "Go help him out."

The Joker put the helmet aside and started to enjoy his pancakes as he watched the two of them together at the stove. Claire was speaking and using a tone he hadn't heard for a long time. It brought back memories. She was in teacher mode.

"See, the idea is, Thomas, that you warm the pot first. Just add a little of the boiling water and swish it around to get it warm – _before_ you add the tea. It aids in steeping. That's right. Now you can add the rest of the water to make the tea. Perfect."

"Schiffy, I want your motorcycle."

They both turned to look at him. Schiff seemed lost for words so Claire spoke up first.

"Are you sure it's safe for you to ride one? I'm thinking of those episodes you have." She didn't want to use the word 'seizure' in front of Thomas, in case he wasn't aware.

"My seizures?" The Joker nodded at Schiff. "He knows, don't you Schiffy. Schiffy and I have spent a lot of time together. He's seen me zone out. Anyway, not to worry. I get a warning, well ahead of time."

"Like an aura?" Claire wanted to understand and be reassured.

"Yeah. I smell buttered popcorn about five or six minutes before. Plenty of time to pull over and park."

"Buttered popcorn?" She watched Schiff nodding his head in agreement, obviously familiar with the Joker's neurologic episodes.

"Yeah, I'm perfectly safe except in a movie theatre or at the circus." The Joker sounded confident. "How about ten thousand, Schiffy? Oh, and I'll throw in a slightly used car, too, so you can get around. It's in a lot somewhere. I'll get Charlie to bring it over for you on Monday."

"That…that….that's too much." Schiffy shook his head.

"Well, it's what I got at the moment and it's yours as long as you can run out after breakfast and pick up another helmet for Claire here. What colour do you want Kumquat?"

* * *

When Charlie arrived at his apartment, it was quiet, and he sighed with relief that he had gotten home before Leo had a chance to miss him.

Cha Cha was still asleep. It was usual for her to sleep past both of them but what was unusual was the fact that she was fast asleep, curled up, in Charlie's newly acquired bedroom. He also found a scribbled note taped to the door knob for him. It said:

_I miss you._

_Love CC_

Typical. Any sign that he was hooking up with someone else and she instantly became interested in him again. He crumpled it up and flushed it. Then he went to the living room where he took off his jacket and kicked off his boots, relaxing on the couch, lying down to see if he could steal another hour of sleep, still sleepy from lack of it the last two nights. His eyes were just closing when he felt something heavy on his chest.

He opened one eye to see Leo sitting on top of him, grinning.

"Time for a shower, Pop, breakfast at Joe's, and then the carpentry shop. You promised."

Charlie really didn't need a shower, having showered earlier with Janice, but it was a ritual he and Leo had developed recently. They showered together and had man talk, away from Cha Cha's ears. So, he followed Leo who was stripping off his pyjamas casually as they walked to the shower in the main bathroom. He was naked by the time they got there and got the water running to the right temperature as Charlie stripped down, yawning.

Charlie stepped into the spray first and Leo followed closing the door behind him. It was a large stall and the water actually felt good to Charlie in that it was waking him up. Leo reached for the shampoo and handed it to him.

Charlie smiled to himself when he noticed that Leo had been trying to grown his usually short hair, longer lately, and trying to push it behind his ears, taking after his own way of wearing his hair. He sincerely hoped that this would be the only thing he decided to imitate. He wanted better things for Leo.

As Charlie lathered up, he noticed Leo checking him out. He was looking at his package with more than his usual curiosity. Then he looked at his own, eight-year-old, nearly nine-year old, anatomy, and sighed.

"What." Charlie handed the shampoo back to him. "What's with the look?"

"Will I get that big?" Leo asked, looking only slightly awkward, as he nodded at Charlie's generous endowment. They had a very open relationship where things like this were concerned.

"Of course. Just give it time. You're right on schedule." He smiled at the boy and looked around for the body wash. "Patience, Leonardo."

He handed Leo a washcloth and the body soap but the boy kept his head down as though he were deep in thought. Leo began to scrub his chest and belly, lingering a little bit before going over his penis quickly and then on to his legs.

Charlie rinsed his hair and looked down at the boy, sensing something that perhaps should be said.

"You, ah, have any fun with that thing yet?" He just asked. Being subtle was not one of his strong points.

Leo looked up at him quickly and Charlie could see that it was more than surprise. He looked frightened.

"What's wrong?" Charlie tried to make himself clear, thinking he had been misunderstood somehow. "I mean, have you …. you know, um….." He closed his hand and made a stroking motion to illustrate what was difficult to say in words.

Leo's head went down and he mumbled. "Maybe."

Charlie grinned. Okay, he was a bit young but not a lot younger than he was when he discovered the fun that could be had all by yourself.

"It's okay you know. Everybody does it."

Leo looked at him doubtfully.

"Do _you_ do it ?"

"All the time." Charlie winked at him.

"Woah." Leo took a deep breath and shook his head. "You better not let Mom catch you."

"You got caught?" Charlie understood now. "What did she say?"

"She slapped me and she told me that it was dirty and evil and that if I did it again, I would get sick and maybe even die."

Charlie froze. He had to maintain great control not to start cursing. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"Your mother is _wrong_."

Leo looked up at him, eyes wide. 'She is?"

"Oh yes." Charlie chewed on his bottom lip, trying to understand why a mother would do that. Especially a mother who celebrated her libido as freely as Cha Cha did. "I'll speak to her. Forget what she told you."

"Really?" Leo looked so relieved that Charlie wanted to hug him but this particular scenario might be weird so he refrained.

"Yeah. You can touch yourself anyway, any time, you like. It's your body – not hers. Have fun. God gave it to you to enjoy."

"Thanks, Pop." Leo looked positively radiant, a load lifted from his small shoulders.

Charlie made a mental note to stop at the hardware store on the way home from the wood shop to pick up two locks. One would be installed on his new bedroom door to keep Cha Cha out. The other would be installed on the inside of Leo's bedroom door to give the boy a sense of privacy that he was old enough to need now.

* * *

It was getting late, nearly ten o'clock at night and Janice had spent the day in her pyjamas, eating ice cream and crying. She had phone messages piled up from well-meaning friends that were calling to check up on her since her ordeal at the Armory; calls from Michael's mother, from the media, and from her cousin, Pam, who was more like a sister. But she couldn't talk to anyone right now.

Today had started out so bright, in his company. And then when he had left her with such a vague promise of any future contact, everything, every shred of good, had unraveled into the blackest day in memory since Michael had been killed.

She berated herself for being so stupid. He had come and gotten what he wanted. And she had gotten what she wanted, too, to be honest. And then he had gone home, to his wife and his son. What did she expect? She had no experience with men aside from Michael and the one-night stand mistake she had allowed into her world on that fateful night six months ago.

Charlie must think she was an idiot. An _easy_ idiot at that.

She looked around and noticed that it was very dark outside and she hadn't bothered to turn on a single light in the apartment. It didn't matter. There was nothing she wanted to see. She should go to bed but she knew she couldn't sleep. Not in this state. She would have to change the sheets. She couldn't bear the thought of using the same ones he had slept on. Not if she was never going to see him again.

"Oh my God, Minsky." She talked to herself. "You really did it to yourself this time. Why not just give him a knife and ask him to stick it in your heart? Open marriage?"

The phone rang again and she let it ring as she moved past it to go to the kitchen for more ice cream. She glanced at it disdainfully, expecting to see the number of one of the callers who had plagued her all day. But this time, it said "C. Beaufort" on the call display.

She stared at it for a moment, thinking she must be imagining it from wishing it to happen all day. And then she grabbed the phone, pushed talk, and sat down on the couch because her legs threatened to go out on her.

"Hello?"

"Hey Private." His voice was quiet, like he was keeping it low. Of course he was keeping it low. He was calling from home. "I know it's late. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

She took a deep, ragged breath and tried to speak but she was overwhelmed with relief at the sound of his voice.

"You there?" He waited.

"Hey Captain." She finally got it out.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." She lied. "Did you have a good day with Leo?"

"Yeah, we had fun. You?"

"I'm fine." She lied again.

"You sound like you've been crying." He said it so gently it nearly made her start again.

"Just stuff. You know. I'm okay now."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"Well, look. I've got this little place about an hour out of Gotham. Just a three season deal to hammer around in and get away fishing. I was thinking I should go up there tomorrow and fix a few things. Spend the day. You wanna come with?"

She closed her eyes and gave up a silent thank you to the heavens. But she didn't want to act too eager. She had to guard her heart a little. The emotional pain of the day had convinced her that Charlie Beaufort had more power over her than what was healthy. This man was a heart breaker.

"What about your family? Don't they want to go?"

"Nah. She hates the country. And her family has a get together tomorrow. Family birthday or something like that. She'll be taking Leo with her. He likes his cousins."

"They don't expect you to go along?"

"I'm not welcome at the in-laws – for a while now." He gave a little chuckle. "It's a long story. Anyway, I thought, it's Sunday, and if you want to get out of town, I'd love to spend some time with you. I'll be busy doing chores some of the time but you could bring along a book or your sewing to keep you busy. It's a nice time of year to….."

"I'd love to go."

"Yeah?"

"What time?"

"I'll be by about 9:00."

"Can you pull up around the back? I'll watch for you. I don't want to go out the front door because those media people are still stalking. I'll meet you out back."

"Want me to have a little chat with them, on your behalf?" He offered seriously.

"No, no. That's okay." She assured him. "They can't stay out there forever."

"Alright, but if you change your mind, just say the word. I have ways of convincing folks to back off."

"It's alright. Really." She didn't want any altercations that might lead to trouble for him.

"Okay. I'll come around the back. Wear something comfortable."

"I will."

"Janice?"

"Yes, Charlie."

"I thought about you a lot today."

"Me too." She felt the tears coming again and fought to keep them back.

"I mean a _lot." _He said it carefully as though to push the thought home for her. "I thought about you almost constantly. And I wanted to tell you…"

She waited. After a long pause, he continued.

"I wanted to apologize for pushing you so fast. I'll try to be more of a gentleman tomorrow. I promise."

It was completely unexpected. This man was full of surprises.

"Charlie, it's okay. I'm a big girl. I wanted it just as much. I don't regret it at all. But, thank you."

"You have a good sleep now. You're probably still a little shook up from the shit storm on Thursday." He sounded concerned.

"I will."

"Okay. Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow." She smiled into the phone.

"Good night, Baby."

The way he said it. She blinked back some tears. Good ones.

"Good night, Captain."


	29. Chapter 29 Date Night

_**Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing. **_

The Endgame

_Chapter Twenty-Nine_

"_Date Night"_

Claire watched Gotham flash by in all its night time splendor as she clung to the Joker who directed Schiff's silver motorcycle to a destination known only to him for the moment.

On Saturday evening, the Joker had presented her with a candy apple red motorcycle helmet just after a late supper of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding prepared impeccably by Thomas Schiff, telling her to get into her jeans because it was date night. He was taking her out of the tenement for some fresh air and an adventure.

The night was moonlit but still gloomy as Gotham always tended to be. She clung to the Joker, her arms wrapped tightly around his slender frame, as she leaned her head against his back, trying to recognize the landmarks to figure out where he might be taking her.

Their helmets and the noise of the wind rushing by prevented them from communicating verbally. He handled the motorcycle as though he had ridden one before but she knew, by now, that the Joker was amazingly adept at most things he took on, first time or not. His natural athletic ability and intelligence made him a natural for almost anything – even riding a motorcycle that he had purchased from Schiff only hours earlier. Of course there was no paperwork involved; just the gift of a late model SUV to be delivered by Charlie on Monday, and ten thousand dollars in cash. The bike now belonged to the Joker. Schiff had been beside himself in expressing his gratitude for the generous trade.

With the helmet in place, the Joker could go anywhere and not be recognized for his trademark scars. They were covered completely by the black, flame-emblazed helmet.

She heard him let out a whoop or two as they travelled the streets of Gotham, celebrating his freedom in a city that tended to keep him shut in, or confined to back alleys, to avoid recognition. She had to smile at the unbridled war cry he unleashed at unsuspecting citizens on street corners; in fact, she joined in on one, happy for the exhilaration he must be feeling. She could feel his shoulders shake with laughter at her joining in with his vocal expression of liberation. Her face was sore from grinning, so pleased she was at his joy.

As they moved past Trinity Square and the monument to the Unknown Soldier on Marshall Boulevard, she realized they were in the neighbourhood of Wordsworth High School where she had taught that fateful year they had met. As he swung around Collegiate Circle three, four times, as though teasing her with the clue, he finally rode up and entered the high school property from the north side, mostly sheltered by a stand of oak trees that had grown that much taller, thirteen years taller, since the day she had left the premises in shame and disgrace, her career in tatters.

They pulled off the road and onto the lawn, passing between the trees and up to the side of the main building that had very few lights visible at ten o'clock at night on a Saturday. They bounced along the uneven ground, as she clung to him to avoid being thrown from the motorcycle until he came to an abrupt halt at a row of windows close to the ground. He killed the engine and leaned back into her embrace, able to speak now that the motorcycle was silent and they were out of the wind.

"Welcome back, Baby."

She slipped off the bike from behind him and stood on shaky legs, having had a work out from the wild ride over.

He jumped off and kicked the stand out to secure the motorcycle, taking his helmet off at the same time. He spidered his large hand through his wild hair to comb it back into some order. His face was still bare of paint; a state he seemed to have come to prefer in her company. He helped her remove her helmet, to get her bearings.

"Is this?" She looked up at the four storey building. This was an angle she hadn't viewed it from before but she was sure, this was the place.

"Yeah. Wordsworth. The scene of the crime." He verified it for her.

"Is it still?"

"No. It's an adult education centre now. But, still a school. And it still has…" He ran up to one of the low, ground level windows and dropped to his knees. "A swimming pool."

She could see that the windows had an odd reflection – a pulsating, undulating, aquatic feel to them. This was the swimming pool annex, added the year she began her tenure at Wordsworth. The pool was the envy of all the other Gotham high schools; nearly Olympic in size and costing a relative fortune for its time. The superintendent of schools at the time, a swimming fan, was determined to produce an Olympic swimming champion from Gotham. He had picked this particular establishment to further his own, personal dream. The Joker moved to the fourth window from the eastern end of the building, obviously knowing in advance which one to pick.

"I had Charlie scope this place out a while ago, to set it up for my own personal use when I need some recreation. I love the water. The security is lax on Saturday night and Charlie was kind enough to rig the window so that I can enter and leave without tripping the alarm." He pushed in on the sides of the window that popped forward with little effort, allowing him to remove it and slide it to the side, leaving an opening large enough to enter easily. He was on his knees as he looked at her, nodding at her to join him. "Com'on, Kumquat."

He handed her his helmet as he slipped through the opening first, landing on his feet, about five feet below her, in a practiced manner that led her to believe he had been here many times before. He reached up to her from inside and took the helmets from her, setting them aside and then reached up again to help her in her descent into the pool complex with him. His arms grasped her firmly, allowing her an easy landing on her feet beside him.

"It's all ours …. for as long as we want." He swept one long arm out at the empty pool facility, lit only by the underwater lighting installed in the blue and white tiled walls of the pool itself, shimmering beneath the still surface like blue topaz crystals, adding a low, eerie lighting to the entire expanse of water before them. The semi-dark room had an atmosphere of its own with high humidity and the unmistakable odour of chlorinated water. There was an echo in the large tiled space that magnified their voices.

"Won't we get caught?" She whispered but it reverberated like a shout.

"No. The security takes off early on Saturday night. Like clockwork. We're on our own, Miss Sanborne." He used the name she was used to as a teacher. She looked up at him for a moment, wondering what he was thinking. He just smirked. He was loving this. She played along, happy to indulge him in this trip back in time.

"I don't recall you trying out for the swim team."

"I would have." He ducked his head down towards her, eyes sparkling in the watery reflection of the pool. "But I was much too interested in the chess club. Why hang around with a bunch of water-logged geeks who shave all their body hair and wear bathing caps when I can hang out with a hot, British babe that I can have all to myself with only a chess board between us?"

With that, he started a half-run/half-skip toward the far end where the diving board sat over the deepest part, shedding his jacket, vest, shrugging off his suspenders and unbuttoning his shirt. He looked back at her as he reached the board, gesturing for her to follow.

"I didn't bring anything to wear in the water." She laughed at his enthusiasm.

"Skinny dipping, Baby." He tossed his shirt in the general direction of the trail of clothes he was creating and then started lifting his feet, one by one, to remove shoes and socks. "It's just you and me. Nothing I haven't seen before and I'm always anxious to see again." He waggled his eyebrows comically.

She walked towards him, picking up his discarded clothes as she did so, folding them into some order. She just shook her head and sighed.

"You're really just eight years old, aren't you?"

"Nah, more like fifteen going on sixteen, hmmmm?" He tilted his head at her in a suggestive manner, alluding to his age when they had been found together in a compromising position that led to the events that forever changed their worlds. He unbuttoned his pants and without ceremony let them drop, stepping out of them onto the board. He was completely naked now, aside from the bandage that still adorned his right bicep where he had been wounded days before; the wound that she had attended to so carefully. He walked to the middle of the board, testing it ahead of him, with a little bounce. "You gotta come in. I'll be disappointed if you don't."

"Your arm." She reminded him. "It's just healing. Be careful."

"It's okay. The water's chlorinated. Just like a disinfectant. Besides, you did such a beautiful job of dressing it every day, it's completely closed." He assured her.

She watched him, enjoying the sight of his tall physique devoid of clothing. He was a beautiful boy who had grown into a beautiful man. She loved his lack of inhibition of any kind. She watched his long arms come up together over his head as he assumed the position of a dive. The board wobbled as he left it, his pale body moving up in a gentle arc and then down, slicing through the still surface of the water with hardly a splash, disappearing into the deep.

She walked along beside the pool, watching his form beneath the water, illuminated by the underwater lights as it glided smoothly half the pool length where he popped up, shaking his head, his long hair sending a spray of water around him like a halo. He treaded water and looked over at her.

"Can you swim?" He smiled at her as she sat down cross-legged at the pool's edge.

"No."

"Why am I not surprised?" He smacked his lips which usually indicated disdain.

"Well, I never got around to it. I like water but I just puddle around. I sink like a stone." She got on her knees and reached out to test the temperature with her hand. It was warm. In the cool of the autumn evening, it was inviting, especially since he was already in, naked, and playful. And she wanted to please him.

"Aw, com'on in. We'll play Marco Polo. Do you know Marco Polo?" He started to swim over to where she smiled at him, contemplating. "We can stay in the shallow end here so you can touch bottom."

"Yes, I know Marco Polo." She stood up now, looking down at him.

"Fish out of water!" He took her by surprise, taking advantage of a rule of the game, pointing at her to make her "it" to begin, as he swam away.

"That's not fair. I'm not ready yet." She bit her lip in frustration as she wiggled out of her jacket and then pulled her sweater over her head. He started to giggle and it echoed all over the partially illuminated space. She doffed her bra onto the pile of clothing that was growing, and sat down to work on her boots. As she leaned forward, her long dark tresses fell over her shoulders and covered her breasts in a most alluring way.

"You look like a mermaid." He watched, grinning with delight.

She shimmied out of her jeans, leaving only a pair of pale pink bikini panties between her and full nudity. She pointed a toe and dipped it in tentatively.

"Off with the panties. This is a no panty zone." He said it with mock seriousness, cupping his hands loosely around his mouth as he spoke, projecting it like a loud speaker. "I'm the panty police and I order you to pull over and remove your panties, Miss." He dipped his head level with the water to blow bubbles, his eyes sparkling with mischief, watched her intently.

If there was one thing she had learned about him in the last week or so, it was that he could keep an argument going circular for hours. He would wear her down until he got his way. It was easier to just give in. The panties were added to the pile of clothing and she leapt the short distance into the water, landing about six feet away from where he waited. Her feet just barely reached the bottom of the pool on tip-toe. She kept her arms out at her sides to steady herself and then moved them around slowly to begin treading water and touching bottom with her toes, in turns. It felt absolutely delicious to be nude in the expanse of warm water. She felt all the muscles in her body relaxing one by one. No wonder he liked coming here.

"You ready?" He started to make an arc around her in the water. "Close your eyes."

"Stay in the shallows."

"I will. I will." He chuckled.

"And once you choose your spot, don't move. This pool is way too big for me to find you if you're moving around."

"I will. I will."

"And don't get out of the pool. That's cheating."

"Okay. Okay."

"And remember you're taller than I am so you can't go by what's shallow for you. What's shallow for you could **drown** me."

"Claire?"

"What."

"Shut up and play."

She opened her mouth to say more but then thought better of it. She closed her eyes tightly and started to count down from ten to one, out loud, very slowly as he moved into position. Then she began by shouting.

"Marco!"

"Polo!" He answered back but turned his head as far to the right as he could to let it his voice echo around the walls, confusing her as to the direction it was coming from. It worked. She moved way off to his right and stopped after about ten feet.

"Marco!"

"Polo!" He answered, throwing his voice again. It worked. She was getting further away from him.

"Marco!"

"Polo!" He gave into his giggling this time because she looked so lost and she was going further and further away from him.

"Marco!" She was starting to sound frustrated. She was naturally competitive like he was. She wanted to make him "it".

"Polo!" He stopped throwing his voice and shouted directly at her, watching her head turn in his direction. She began to move closer now, moving slowly in a combination of treading and walking, eyes still tightly closed.

"Marco!"

"Polo." He spoke now instead of shouting, as she was much closer, only about four feet away.

"Marco."

"Polo."

She leapt forward in the water and closed the distance with a triumphant smile on her face, eyes still tightly closed, as she reached out and put her hands against his chest.

She blinked her eyes open and fluttered her eyelashes at him in a comical way. It was clear that she was enjoying their outing. He pulled her into an embrace that brought their nakedness against one another as his hands reached around and gripped her bare bottom. Her arms encircled his neck as he let his hands slide down her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his hips, clinging to him as he pushed off, holding her with one arm now as he stroked through the water with the other one, swimming along with her wrapped around him.

"This is wonderful." She murmured, feeling almost weightless and enjoying the feeling of his graceful body buoying them along as they moved, together, through the water.

"Hi, I'm Marco." He kissed her mouth softly. "Can you feel my **polo**?"

She shrieked out a laugh, one that seemed to gush up from her toes. He loved when she laughed like that. He knew she had a freaky side even if she didn't know it, herself. He got such a kick out of teasing it to the surface. It's what made her so fascinating. And so much fun.

* * *

Charlie had just finished his late night call to Janice, inviting her to come with him to his country cabin the next day. He got out of bed, dressed in his usual sleeping attire, a pair of black boxers. He didn't feel ready to sleep yet. Talking to her had somehow given him a second wind. He was hungry. He walked to the bedroom door and opened it to head to the kitchen and bumped into Leo who was coming to see him.

"What are you doing up?" Charlie checked his watch. "It's nearly 10:30. You won't get taller if you don't sleep. Remember? I told ya."

Leo just sighed and walked past him into Charlie's room and fell down on the bed, looking miserable.

"What's up?" Charlie flopped down across from him cradling his head in one hand.

"I don't want to go to a stupid birthday party tomorrow." Leo curled up in a fetal position and grasped his toes with his fingers. Charlie noticed that Leo's legs were getting longer as his pajama bottoms were a little short now, revealing bare ankles. "I wanna go to the place with you and look for rocks." His dark hair was a mess and hung into his equally dark eyes. He looked just like his mother.

"You gotta go. Your cousin Frankie'll be disappointed if you don't show up at his 10th birthday party."

"Why aren't you going?" Leo challenged him. "It's family. You never go to family stuff anymore."

"I have repairs at the place." Charlie sat up and tried to sound reasonable. "The roof is leaking and I have to bring wood in to dry before it snows or we won't have a good fire when we go up there in the winter."

"Is it because of Uncle Ramon?" Leo wasn't letting him off so easily. "Is it because you punched him that time? Frankie told me about it. I missed it. I was in the pool."

Charlie rolled his eyes. He was hoping Leo didn't have to find out about that. He wasn't proud of it. He had been grateful that Leo didn't witness his "pop" wailing on his uncle at a family bar-b-cue. But Ramon had it coming. He had been begging for it for years. One remark too many about Leo's parentage just made Charlie snap. He had laid into him with three good punches to the face and his asshole brother-in-law was down before he knew what hit him. It was like a scene from a movie; the women all screamed, the men tried to hold him back, too late, and he hadn't been welcome at the Salazar family get-togethers since; unless he apologized to Ramon in front of them all. Like that would happen.

Ramon had challenged Charlie from day one, constantly hammering away at sensitive issues with boorish remarks to get a rise out of him. It was territorial. Charlie was sure of it. It had to do with Cha Cha. The family had no decent boundaries. They were all raised without rules, without any sense of lines you didn't cross. It was like a goddamn commune or something. Cha Cha's upbringing was the reason she was the self-indulgent, ego-centric, person that she was. As the youngest and the only girl after four boys, she was indulged and adored, especially by her closest in age brother, a little too much. He was sure, in his gut, that Ramon and Cha Cha had stepped over the line probably as soon as she was in a training bra. So Charlie was the interloper. When he married into the family, taking Cha Cha as his wife, Ramon was pissed.

Charlie had questioned Cha Cha about it more than once, bracing himself for the truth but she always skated right around the topic. If it had happened, it was pretty clear that she was okay with it. She was proud of her bohemian upbringing and considered her family intellectual and outside the confines of ordinary society. They were special. Rules were for other people. Yet, she would slap her little boy for doing something as innocent and normal as exploring his own body. She was a hypocrite.

"Yeah, I punched him. I shouldn't have. Well, I mean, he had it coming. But it wasn't the right time or place."

A female voice joined the discussion.

"All you have to do is apologize and you're back in the Salazar good books." It was Cha Cha, leaning in the doorway. They both looked up at her there. Her arms were crossed on her ample bosom. She was dressed in a very short baby blue negligee and Charlie noted that her shoulder length black hair was down. That was her signal that she wanted to have sex. She always took her hair down for sex.

"Not going to happen." Charlie told her calmly, referring to the apology.

Leo sat up now and looked between his mother and the man he considered his father.

"Maybe Uncle Ray should apologize to Pop for making him so mad." Leo suggested and Cha Cha just stared at him in a way that made Leo put his head down and mutter. "Well, just saying….."

"Leo, go to bed. It's late." She came into the room now and took a seat in the armchair beside the bed crossing one shapely bare leg over the other. Charlie was grateful she was wearing the matching panties. The outfit left little to the imagination and he wasn't sure she should be parading around like this, in front of Leo.

"I will." Leo didn't make a move to leave yet. "How come Pop's sleeping in here now?"

Charlie looked at Cha Cha and she just shrugged and looked back at him, leaving him to explain.

"Well, I come in late a lot. Irregular hours. You know. I thought it best to sleep here so I don't wake Mom up when I get in late."

Leo frowned.

"You're not out late tonight."

Charlie just blinked at him. The kid was too quick. He was stuck for an answer.

Cha Cha got up from the chair, climbing onto the bed between the two of them and cuddling up with a pillow like she was settling in for the night.

"Pop and I have two beds now. We can sleep in either one. I kind of like it." Her dark eyes flashed in the semi-darkness to fall on Charlie, focusing on his bare chest. She reached out a freshly manicured hand to tease a few tendrils of his longish hair. "Leo, you go off to bed. We want some grown-up time."

This was what they had told Leo in the past when they didn't want to be interrupted. The boy seemed to understand that "grown-up" time meant something private and he shouldn't come in or call them unless the house was on fire. There had been next to no "grown-up" time in the past several months.

The way Leo was smiling, Charlie had the definite feeling that he was old enough now and had learned enough to decode what "grown-up" time really was all about.

"Did you get my note?" She scooted a little closer to Charlie who seemed to be deep in thought. "Charlie?"

"Hmmm? What? Oh …. yup. Got it." He glanced at her quickly and then laid back and looked at the ceiling, deep in thought once again. He was trying to figure out how he was going to avoid a scene in front of Leo. The boy didn't have a clue that his parents discussed separating every day and that he was the only reason that Charlie was still under this roof.

"Angela Featherstone saw Pop on Friday morning when he dropped me off at school and she said that he's hot." Leo sat cross-legged now, enjoying the rare occasion of being up so late.

Charlie spluttered out a laugh.

"Is Angela in your class?"

"No, she's a year ahead. She's a genius."

"Well, she would be smart to take note of how hot you are." Cha Cha purred into Charlie's ear as she laid her head against his shoulder.

"I think she's stupid." Leo blurted it out and Charlie cracked up, laughing at his blunt assessment of his school mate.

"Stupid isn't nice." He managed to get out.

"You laughed." Leo countered.

"Well, yeah, it's funny – but it's not nice." Then he looked beside him at Cha Cha who was looking at him in a way he hadn't seen in years. That look reminded him of why he had succumbed to her years ago despite the fact she was obviously shallow, incredibly needy and pregnant with another man's child and in spite of the warning from his very sensible older brother that the woman was a man eater and a master at control. At the time, Charlie thought that Dan was just jealous. Now, he knew better. That smoldering gaze of unbridled lust could make any man feel like a superstar. But it wasn't enough anymore. He knew it was fleeting and once he gave in, the head games would start again. Besides, he had had a taste of Janice. There was no comparison.

"Leo, go to bed. I'm serious." Cha Cha licked her lips, eyes still on Charlie. "You had Pop all to yourself all day. It's my turn."

"Not tonight." Charlie said it before he could even think it over.

Leo and Cha Cha said in unison. "What?"

"Mom's got to go back to the big bedroom because it's guy's night in here. Leo's sleeping here tonight. With me."

"I am?" Leo stood up on the bed and jumped around doing a little dance. "Sorry Mom. Guy's night." He snapped his fingers at her to move fast. Charlie laughed because the look on her face was priceless.

* * *

The Joker and Claire were out of the pool after a great time; she even got a swimming lesson, even if it was just him tossing her into the deep end until she figured out how to stay on top. She never, for a minute, felt that he wouldn't save her if she went down for the third time.

Now they were dried and dressed, and were prowling the halls of the third floor looking for what used to be Room 335E, Claire's old homeroom. The halls were darkened except for emergency night lights at either end. She moved along peering though the small windows of each room because the numbers were all different now. The Joker concentrated on the banks of lockers across from the rows of rooms. He was looking for a clue.

"They all look so different now. The seating arrangements are all turned around." She said, frowning. "There's no teacher's lounge."

"Wait." He put out an arm to stop her moving ahead. "Look." He pointed down at the base of a locker.

She looked to where he pointed. They were looking at the bottom that was slightly pushed in three places, like someone had hit it with something heavy. He grinned and turned to look at the door opposite.

"That's it." He walked over and tried the knob. It was locked, for now. He reached into his coat and produced a short-bladed knife. He held it in a practiced hand and leaned over to begin his work.

"How do you know this is it?" She was fascinated at his certainty.

"Because, that day, after Lauren walked in on us and you went running after her, I came out of the room. " He stopped for a moment and looked again at the lockers across from them. "And I was so pissed that we were interrupted that I put my boots to that locker right there and kicked the shit out of it."

She nodded and smiled, although her stomach was doing flips in a mixture of anticipation and dread, at the thought of entering that room again. She watched him jimmy the keyhole in the handle and with a small click, he turned the knob and the room was open. It was dark. He didn't want to take a chance of turning on the room lights as the bank of windows faced the street, so instead he moved out into the hall again to find the hall light and switched it on, just enough to make the room possible to navigate. He walked past where she leaned against the door frame and moved into the room, then paused and reached out and grasped her arm to urge her to follow him.

The seating arrangement was opposite to what it had been thirteen years ago and there were fewer desks for adult education. The teacher's desk was set along the side of the windows instead of at the end of the room by the door where it had been before. The air was stagnant, rather stale, and the smell of books, markers and waxed wooden floors brought them back in time; funny how odours could sometimes conjure the strongest memories.

He moved over to the teacher's desk and braced himself on one end and started to push. It moved easily.

"What are you doing?" She laughed nervously.

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. She joined him and helped him move the desk over to where it had been when she taught. It might even be the same desk, she thought. It certainly looked like it. The top was nearly clear of items. That was different from the way it had been when she used it. She kept a collection of items on top; little keep-sakes, odds and ends to illustrate a point in a lesson, a snow-globe of the Parthenon for Greek History, a small replica of Mount Rushmore, extra thesauruses and dictionaries for the kids who didn't have the means or always forgot to bring their own. And always, always, a vase for the fresh flowers she kept to add a little bit of nature and colour to an otherwise gloomy classroom.

She remembered that he had sat second row, second desk from the back. She could locate the approximate area now and stared at the spot, lost in time pulling her backwards.

"Chess club was in the teacher's lounge after school that day, remember?" He leaned against the chalk ledge about five feet from where she stood behind her old desk. "I had already played Lauren and beat her in about three minutes. She left and then you and I played. I won. You told me to be careful about my head getting too big. Then you asked me to come back here because you wanted to give me an article about Russia, a history of the chess grandmasters." He watched her carefully. She nodded, smiling a little wistfully as he continued. "And I asked you whether or not you were serious about you and I making that trip to Russia together."

"And I said….." She began to remember.

"You asked me how my mother was." He gave her a look that made her smile rather sheepishly. "You were stalling. Changing the subject."

"You were a very intense young man." She touched the edge of the desk with her fingers and rubbed it, like it had magic powers that could help her conjure the past. "You had that habit of looking directly in someone's eyes when you talked, as though everything you said was a challenge. You still do."

He pushed away from the ledge and walked over to where she was standing and took her hand to lead her around to the front of the desk. He stood in front of her and she looked up at him. Even then, when he was a fresh-faced teenager, she still had to look up at him.

He squinted a little at the recollection and continued.

"I panicked a little. I thought you changed your mind about Russia. That you somehow decided I wasn't good enough to play there. Or that maybe you didn't want to travel with me. Worried about what people might think. What they might say."

She searched his eyes in the semi-darkness, amazed that he could remember all of this. And also amazed at his thoughts at the time.

"Oh no." She went to touch his shoulder but he pushed her hand away. She blinked, a little taken aback but went on to explain. "I thought you were brilliant. I knew you could do it. But, yes, I was worried about how it might look."

"But we had the funds, right? You got the scholarship lined up and we would have been able to go, completely funded. Both of us. Me as the player and you as my tutor."

She shook her head that he was correct in his memory.

"I told my mother about you." He frowned at the memory. "I told her about our plans. I told her you were special."

"What did she say?" Claire was stunned at how much he was divulging; how close he still was to the emotional turmoil of that time.

"She warned me to behave. She could see I was obsessed with you. She reminded me of our ages but she was pleased that I had plans. She knew she was dying soon and she wanted me to have something to look forward to." He closed his eyes for a moment, as though the memory pained him. "She apologized for not being able to be there – to see me succeed. She was so sure that I would succeed."

"She must have loved you very much." Claire was becoming alarmed at this change in him. This sudden ability to reveal an emotionally vulnerable side of himself. It was like a veil was being lifted but she wasn't sure if it was a sign of something healthy or something falling further apart.

"Love." He gave a dry chuckle, expressing amusement at the idea. "Did you ever intend to make that trip with me?" He asked sharply, in an accusatory tone.

"We could have gone for summer vacation." She clarified it for him. "But I was getting concerned about how we were relating to each other at the time. There was the incident, a few days before, when you kissed me, remember? Things were going in a direction that had me worried. To be truthful, I was afraid." She stopped, went to touch his shoulder again and then pulled away. He waited. She continued. "I wasn't sure I could handle things properly if they got out of control. I wasn't sure I was strong enough to keep you in line."

"I felt it." He moved in closer and put his hands on the desk behind her on either side, penning her in, just as he had done that day. "I could feel you trying to pull away and I was desperate to keep you close. I needed **everything** from **you**. I didn't care about Russia or being a grandmaster or chess or travel. I only cared about having you to myself."

"Jack, I'm sorry." She whispered to him. "I was confused. It was impossible, don't you see?"

"No." He said it quickly, flatly. "I don't see."

"You were fifteen years old." She tried to sound reasonable.

"Nearly sixteen. And you and I both know I was never **young**. I was an old man at five."

They both knew what he meant. She nodded sadly. She wanted to hold him but she could feel his agitation. She would be pushed away. So she let him continue.

"So. Sixteen. Too young. But we could have done it anyway. With a little patience, in two years, I'm eighteen. We could have been married. Make it all official."

She looked at him with an expression close to shock. He gave a low, dry laugh at the look on her face and continued to tell her the story he had conjured up, in meticulous detail, in his daydreams of her, at that time.

"By then my mother would have been dead. My father didn't give a damn what I did. We could have done what we wanted to. We could have travelled all over the world together, me winning the tournaments, you managing things, keeping track of all the money rolling in, the book deals, the endorsements. Everywhere we went, everyone would comment on my beautiful wife, my tutor, my companion. And then the children would come along, one by one, probably four - three girls and finally the son that you wanted. And they would all learn to travel and be schooled on the road by their brilliant mother. What others thought, what others might have said, would be long forgotten by that time. We would have just been the Napier's, that fortunate family, the ones who had it all."

There was silence for a few moments while everything he had just said swirled around in her brain like a terrible revelation. An unbearable truth. What he had hoped for was not that impossible, looking at it thirteen years later. What made it unbearable to consider was the fact that it was completely impossible now. That one sweet, ripe moment had come and gone. She felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach, the pain of knowing this was that bad. She slouched forward slightly feeling nauseous and weak.

"Jack, I'm sorry."

"So when I came onto you that day. When I tried to get you to give in to me. To have sex. It was a desperate attempt to possess you. I felt if I could get you to cross that line, then you couldn't go back. Once we were together that way, no one could separate us. You would see me as a man and not a boy. And we came close …. before we were interrupted."

"We came very close." She had to agree, feeling a rush of desire at the memory.

"Tell me the truth." He coaxed her to sit on the edge of the desk as she had that day, and pulled her legs around him as he brought her in against him, replicating the position they assumed then. "Did you want me?"

"I couldn't let you …."

"No, I want to know if you wanted me." He pushed against her, and she put her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling his neck.

"I've never wanted anyone that much." She whispered to him. "I was so torn and so ashamed."

"If you had just taken me to your apartment like I asked." He reminded her. "We could have been gone before Lauren came back to find us. Things might have been so different."

"I'm sorry."

"**Stop** … saying that." He gave her a look that made her freeze. "It was just a fairy tale. Anyway, little Lauren interrupted any future that may have come from that. I wonder what she's doing now….." He seemed momentarily distracted by that thought.

Claire didn't want to know what he might be thinking – about Lauren.

"She was crazy about you. She came back to see if she could catch you on the way out. To walk with you." She reminded him, trying to keep it in perspective. "She only joined the chess club to be near you. She didn't mean any harm."

"She didn't have to run right to the office and turn you in."

"She was upset. And she was jealous. She was so young." Claire tried to get him to look at her but he was staring off in the distance, focusing on a thought. She tried for a distraction.

"I didn't know that you wrote to me when I was away in Arkham. What did you say to me?"

He finally looked at her. He hesitated for a moment and then leaned in, speaking closely, as though it was a statement of utmost importance.

"I told you that I loved you, of course. I was actually capable of that delusion then."

He watched her react for a moment and then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close, supporting her as she clutched at his lapels and braced her forehead against his vest, eyes closed to the clench in her chest.

She felt like she was being choked. It was her inability to cry. Since Arkham, she had been physically incapable of it. Tears would not come so all the emotions got stuck somewhere in her chest, torturing her with a need to be released but something in her always blocked them. Relief was never hers. She hated it. She wasn't normal. In this way, they were the same.

"I don't know exactly when I started to hate you." He mused out loud, his tone flat, emotionless. She felt the words like a sharp blade and blinked hard at the exquisite pain mere words from him could inflict. He didn't notice and went on. "I can't remember a lot afterwards aside from never getting a response from you to my letters, my mother's departure from the world, the funeral that no one attended, and then moving back to Indiana with my father. I do recall a shitload of psychological testing when I got back to school in Indiana. They told me it was because I wasn't processing the grief and they were concerned. I think I got picked up somewhere along the way by the government. I think they sought me out, as they have a tendency to do when they see a potential young man with a high IQ and the right psychological make-up to become a useful tool in their darker agenda – possible black ops. What ever happened, however it went, what I did, what they did, someone, somewhere did a fine job of creating a black hole in my memory so I wouldn't know who to thank for this." He gestured to the scars adorning his cheeks casually, "Who to stick the knife to. And to think, it all could have been so different, huh Claire?" He grasped her chin to make her look up at him. The agitation seemed to soften to something more like bitter acceptance. "If only you had taken me back to your apartment like I asked….hmmm?"

"You hate me?"

"I did."

"Not now?"

"No, not now." He cocked his head at her like she was being silly. "How could I knowing what you went through because of me? It wasn't your fault."

"I underestimated you." She leaned in and laid her head against his chest again. "I should have taken it all more seriously."

"We are two different people now." He stroked her hair. "Those two people are gone forever." He sounded wistful but hollow.

"We still have now." She sat up straighter and looked into his face earnestly.

Slowly, a faint smile grew on his ravaged mouth, his eyes sparkled a little more with some light returning.

"We only have a little more time, Baby. Just a sliver of time."

"Then let's make the most of it. Let's leave this place and let's leave that awful time behind us." She put her arms around his neck and kissed one scarred cheek softly. "I just want to be with you, Jack. Nothing else really matters to me anymore."

"But you have to go back." He reminded her gently, enjoying the way she melted against him.

"I know."

"How many more days? About five or six?" He was losing track of the calendar.

"That's about right."

"And then you go back to your life and I can get on with mine."

"Of course." She teased some of his wild curls with her fingers, so relieved that the gloom was lifting.

"And if we have some success and you become a mother, I don't want you coming back on me because the kid takes a turn down my strand of DNA and chases you around with kitchen knives."

"I told you. I will be completely responsible. You won't have to get involved." She smiled at his description of their possible offspring. "Probably won't happen anyway."

"The kid or the kitchen knives?"

"Both." She clarified it for him.

"Well, it won't if we just sit around here talking about it."

"Let's get out of here, yeah?" She didn't just mean the physical space. She meant the sadness and regret this space represented.

"I'm going to keep you up all night, Little Lamb." He rubbed her nose with his and pulled her in against him, purring as he did so. "Better late than never, hmmm?"

"Take me home, Jack."

"Home?" He looked at her like she was mistaken. "I don't have a home."

"Anywhere I am is your home." She told him softly. "I don't care what happens in future. Just know that. Anywhere I am is your home."


	30. Chapter 30 Domestic Bliss

_**Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing.**_

_**The next installment shouldn't take as long to appear. I got snagged on this one. Thanks to Lauren for kicking my ass back in gear. Thanks kiddo!**_

The Endgame

_Chapter Thirty_

"_Domestic Bliss"_

Charlie listened to his favourite southern rock as he swung the truck around the corner on to Paisley Place. It was just ahead of nine o'clock on a beautiful, clear autumn Sunday morning. The sun rarely came out in Gotham and when it did, it was hard not to get a little giddy at the sight of actual shadows being cast and something warm and cheerful in a city usually mired in her own gloomy depression.

He headed for Janice's building to pick her up around the back as she had requested to stay out of the sights of a certain pesky news reporter who was hell bent on getting her to give an interview about her ordeal at the Armory last week. As he passed the block in front of her address, he noticed a small late model car parked on the curb, the occupant sitting casually behind the wheel, cardboard cup of coffee in hand, lazily surveying the front of 60 Paisley Place. Janice's apartment looked out the front but Charlie surmised she would be around the back by now, awaiting his arrival. She would have to wait another minute or so while he took care of some business, took care of an issue that affected her and so also affected him, in that their lives had merged in this fledging relationship that he had every intention of nurturing. Even though she had asked him not to approach this pest on her behalf, Charlie felt that, in a way, while he was doing this for her, he was also acting in the capacity of his work for the Joker. The quicker the media let go of anything related to the Armory heist, the safer they all would be. Less interest, the better.

He did a u-turn and then another to pull his black truck right up behind the car in question, just a micrometer from the back bumper. The guy was glued to the rear view mirror wondering who this crazy person was who seemed to be parking in his trunk. Charlie was out of the truck and appeared at the driver's window in an instant, rapping on it insistently with an inpatient fist. He could see the photographic equipment on the front seat. That sealed the deal. The automatic window came down slickly and he was face to face with a plump, middle-aged, pasty-faced media person, coffee cup still in his hand, with a look on his face as though someone had crapped in his cornflakes.

"Yes?" He asked in a snotty manner. "Is there a problem?"

"Could be." Charlie spoke quickly in an official manner. He banged with his fist on the roof of the car and watched the guy jump and then frown with suspicion. Charlie looked him in eye directly, calmly. "You from the news?"

"Could be."

"Then I might have to kill you." Charlie said calmly as he presented a gun, the barrel pointed neatly at the point of the guy's nose.

"Why?" The man dropped his coffee and didn't even seem to register the pain of steaming liquid seeping into his lap and all over the seat. He swallowed hard. "I'm not breaking any laws."

"That won't matter if you're dead, now will it?" Charlie said reasonably as though he was remarking on the weather.

"No." The man blinked. His hands gripped the steering wheel now, white-knuckled. "I'll leave."

"And never come back." Charlie said, swirling the point of the gun in a tight circle around the intruder's left eye.

"Never come back." The guy repeated in a voice that seemed an octave higher now.

"And never report our little meeting to the cops because I got your license number and can trace it to your address and kill you anyway." The henchman gave him a pleasant smile that seemed completely out of sync with what he was saying. A little trick he learned from the Boss. Grin at an inappropriate point in the proceedings and people will assume you are nuts and just that much more dangerous.

"Of course." The man lost all colour from his face. "May I move to start my engine please?"

Charlie looked at the man for a moment, taking his time, as he let the smile fade to a scowl. He waited just a few more moments, to make the weasel sweat, before he withdrew the gun barrel from the window space and stepped away. "Proceed."

The car took off in a streak of burnt rubber and exhaust and Charlie watched it disappear around the block. He stowed his gun back in his shoulder holster under his black leather jacket and walked back to the truck.

When he got around the back of the building, Janice was waiting, seated on the bottom step of the fire escape stairway, russet hair done up in a loose braid worn in a wreath around her head, a pink and green striped sweater with a V-neck with her jeans and boots. There was a large wicker basket beside her. She stood up as the truck approached. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she smiled broadly at his arrival.

He jumped out of the vehicle and walked over to where she was bending to pick up the large, over-sized basket.

"I'll get that." He put a hand against her back and she stood up next to him, smile beaming, reaching her eyes. "What's in there anyway?" He asked as he opened the passenger door and put the basket behind the front seat.

"Lunch." She took the arm he offered to her to help her up into the truck. "And some hand sewing I'm working on."

"Perfect." He was ready to close the door but seemed stuck there, just looking at her. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"So are you, Captain Beaufort."

He moved around to his door and swung up into the truck and started the engine. The music came on and he reached over to turn it down. She reached over and turned it back up.

"I love this band." She leaned into the sunshine that was coming through the window and looked at him shyly. Even though they had already been intimate, this was still a very fresh relationship. A certain amount of awkwardness was still present.

"Hey!" He reached over with his right hand and cradled the side of her face as his thumb brushed over the bridge of her small nose. "Are those … they are…!"

She put her head back against the headrest and moaned in embarrassment.

"Freckles." Charlie chuckled. "You have freckles. Just like a little girl."

Even though she had powdered over them, this was the first they had seen each other in full sunlight, so the faint constellation of tiny speckles was visible.

"Oh, no." Janice pushed his hand away playfully. "The sun brings them out. Damn it."

He laughed at the way the colour was rising in her cheeks. She rolled her eyes, her hands held up shyly to cover her nose.

"You got them anywhere else?"

"I'm not telling you." She mumbled from behind her hands.

"Well, they're adorable. That's all I gotta say." He concluded as he shifted to drive. "Don't sit so far away. There's a seatbelt in the middle. Right next to me." He patted the leather seat beside him with a firm hand. She complied eagerly and they were on their way. Destination – the place.

* * *

Across Gotham at the tenement, Claire was pottering around in the kitchen. It was Schiff's day off. There were plenty of left-over's in the fridge for lunch and supper but they were on their own for breakfast. She actually looked forward to cooking for the two of them.

It had become routine for her and Jack to have sex first thing in the morning. It seemed to be a time he particularly enjoyed, and then again at night, usually a few times throughout the night. So, now, he was upstairs in the shower after their morning session. She heard the water being shut off. He would be here soon and it amazed her how her stomach fluttered like a little girl on Christmas morning every time she anticipated seeing him, even when she had just seen him an hour or so ago. They had stumbled upon a weird sort of domestic rhythm that she enjoyed so much, she didn't like thinking about it ending soon.

The coffee was dripping and she had found some sausages in the refrigerator so she was making English style "toad-in-the-hole", something she liked to treat herself to on Sundays. She hoped he liked it. The sun was streaming in through the dingy kitchen window and landing directly on the old battered kitchen table as though setting the stage for a pleasant morning meal together.

She was just setting the casserole dish into the oven when he appeared in the doorway, hair still damp from his shower, he was dressed in his brown corduroy pants, paisley shirt and green vest, no tie and the familiar beat up dress shoes and colourful socks. His face was bare of war paint and freshly shaved. She looked at him as she closed the oven door and smiled a radiant welcome.

"It's a beautiful day, Jack. Sunny Gotham. Something rare."

He looked at the window and winced a little at the brilliant light flooding the room.

"Is that the sun?" He looked at her playfully. "I thought all that light was coming from you." He swept his eyes over her appreciatively. She was barefoot as she seemed to prefer as much as possible, despite the season, and wearing a knee length brown wool skirt and a dark green sweater with a scoop neck. Her hair was half up in a twist of some kind with the rest tumbled down her back in a wavy display of sun-sparkled chocolate. Her make-up was fresh and her mouth was dark crimson with fresh lipstick, seeming even darker in contrast to her pale, ivory complexion. "I hope the baby looks like you, Cupcake." He declared with feeling.

She walked over and sat down at the table to wait for the meal to be ready and crossed one shapely leg over the other. She crossed her arms and sat back in the chair and heaved a little sigh.

"There _**is**_ no baby. But thanks."

"Not yet." He joined her at the table, across from her, in the other chair and fished around in his vest pockets for something. "With all the rutting we're doing, if there isn't one by the time you leave here, then it just wasn't meant to be."

He located what he was looking for and held it up to her for inspection. A cell phone.

"I thought you didn't like those." She wondered what this was about.

"I don't." He confirmed it for her. "But sometimes, they're a necessity. I want you to call your landlady and that guy in New York to put their minds at ease about your supposed whereabouts and your extended absence. You know their numbers by heart?" He offered the phone to her and she took it carefully.

"I do." She nodded slowly. "I really hate lying to them. You think it's necessary that I call? I've called once already."

"Yes. Call. We want to make sure they aren't suspicious or start to wonder." He said it in a way that communicated that the issue wasn't up for discussion. The call would be made. "When is breakfast ready?"

"About a half hour in the oven."

"Then now is the perfect time." He looked at her expectantly and nodded at the phone. "Go. Do."

She sighed again and paused a moment, as though gathering her thoughts and then entered a number with her thumb quickly. She waited and he waited.

"Doris!" She greeted her landlady as cheerfully as she could and still sound natural, like herself. "Of course it's Claire. How are you?" She nodded as she listened and looked at him, raising her eyebrows. "Of course I'm alright. Don't be silly. What trouble could I possibly be in?" She shook her head at his mouthing the words "See?"

"I'm still with Hamilton. He's doing a little bit better and I should be able to come home later in the week." She winced at the lie and looked at the Joker across the table who was mouthing. "Keep it short." She nodded as she listened to Doris going on about how she was missed.

"Listen Doris, I'm sorry but I have to run. Ham needs some help with his breakfast. Yes, yes. He's eating better, feeling stronger. Yes…" She listened as though she was having trouble getting a word in. "Doris, I'm sorry. I really need to go. No, I can't leave a number. Ham's unlisted. He's very private that way." She winked at him across the table and he nodded his approval. "I'll be home before you know it. Scratch Henry's belly for me. Bye Love." She pushed the disconnect and put the phone down.

"Who the hell is Henry?"

"The cat." Claire smiled to herself.

"The same cat that broke your arm when you were trying to rescue him from the tree?"

"Yes. I don't hold grudges."

"Okay, one more. Your boyfriend in New York."

"He's _**not** _my boyfriend." She tilted her head at him and narrowed her eyes in a mock threatening sort of way.

The Joker just chuckled.

"I don't think you're leveling with me about Hammy boy. I think you two are cozy."

She just rolled her eyes and heaved another weary sigh.

"Make the call Baby Doll. Try not to get the guy too excited. After all, he's really "sick"." He smirked.

She complied once again entering the number quickly, knowing his number like it was her own. The Joker got up and went over to find mugs for coffee. He busied himself while she waited for her friend to pick up. She hoped she got his answering machine and could leave a message instead but he picked up on the third ring.

"Ham. Claire." There was a pause as she listened. "Yes I know. I'm sorry. I should have called you earlier. I'm still on the road."

The Joker was rattling dishes noisily and she was sure the sound was picked up on the other end.

"I just borrowed a cell from someone here in the café to take a minute to call."

The Joker put a mug in front of her and said, playing along with her scenario.

"Coffee Miss?"

She looked up at him. "Yes, please." She went back to listening to her friend as her cup was filled but the Joker didn't go away.

"Anything else I can interest you in this morning Miss?" He said loudly in his best "server" voice.

"No." She gave him a look like he was being an annoyance. "I'm fine. Thanks. That will be all." She continued to listen.

"We have fresh muffins. Blueberry, Chocolate Chip, Morning Glory and Peach Cobbler." He rattled off the selection like a pro.

"No." She frowned at him, trying to listen to Ham on the other end scolding her for being so elusive.

"Eggs? Over easy, soft-cooked, poached, coddled, scrambled or Benedict." He waited for her order.

She frowned at him like he must be out of his mind. Luckily Ham was too busy talking to pick up anything strange about this over-bearing server.

"No!" She was having trouble concentrating. "Just coffee." She made a shooing motion with her hand and he started to giggle. "Go away." And then. "No, not you Ham! This server here is a little pushy. I was talking to him. No tip for him." She glared at the Joker who was trying to stifle his mirth.

"Yes, I'm trading. I've got my laptop to keep on top of my accounts. Where? I'm upstate. Yeah, it's been a nice break. Just what I needed. I should be home later in the week." She listened to her best friend. "I know. I left my cell at home. And I'm having some trouble with my email." She listened some more as her friend started asking more questions. Joker was seated across from her again with coffee in hand, sugar bowl and spoon at the ready, saying silently. "Make it short."

"Ham, we'll catch up when I get home, okay? This is a borrowed phone. I don't want to take advantage. I just wanted to touch base, that's all, so you don't worry. I know that you worry."

She watched out the corner of her eye as the Joker's eyebrow went up, finding renewed interest in this side of the conversation. She went on. "That's not true. I am very careful. I am not too trusting."

The Joker leaned in now, focusing on every word. "Ham … Ham … Listen to me. I'm okay. I'm fine. I just needed a break. I'll be home soon." She looked at the ceiling and turned away from the Joker who had moved to the chair beside her now, listening intently.

"Ham. I promise. This has nothing to do with me trying to get pregnant. I'm not angry with you about that. It was your decision and I respect it. I understand and it doesn't change anything." She took a deep breath and glanced at the Joker before she responded to the question she was being asked by her friend. "Of course. I still love you. Don't be silly. Now look I have to go. I'll call you when I get back." She could feel his eyes burning into her without even looking. "Ham? Ham? You're okay – yeah? Okay then. I'll talk to you again soon." She pressed the disconnect and put the phone in her lap, not looking at him.

"Hmmmmm…" He smacked his lips and broke the silence and she looked sideways at him.

"He is not my boyfriend." She said it slowly like she really wanted it to sink in.

"But you _**love**_ him." He wasn't going to let this go so easily. He began to shovel sugar into his coffee as he did every morning.

"It's a term of endearment. I love him as a friend. He was worried I was angry that he didn't agree to being my sperm donor. I was just reassuring him – that's all."

"Is he good looking?"

"Are you serious?" She sat back in the chair and put the phone on the table. "Do you want diabetes at this young age?" She watched him fill and refill the spoon as he heaped white crystals into his coffee. "Why don't you use a scoop? It would be more efficient."

"Is he good looking?" He repeated, ignoring her remarks about his sugar addiction.

"He is a friend. We're only…"

"He's good looking, isn't he. That's why you wanted him to be the donor."

"I wanted him to be the biological father because he's smart and he will probably never be able to have a child any other way." Claire gave up on trying to explain it with anything other than the truth. "Hamilton is a paraplegic, Jack. He's in a wheelchair. He trades currency because he can't do anything else. And he is brilliant at it. He caught a shard of flying glass in his spine when the first plane hit the towers on 911. He was going to get a bagel at the shop nearby like he did every morning on the way to work. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We met online when I was still in England, on the trading forums and we became friends. I only met him in person for the first time when I came back here a year ago. He's been a great help to me when I was learning how to trade. He is one of the kindest and sweetest human beings I've ever known. Do you understand now?"

He stared at her for a moment, blinking, letting it sink in.

"Oh."

The buzzer went off on the oven.

"Thank God." She got up to fetch their meal and he reached out and grasped her by the arm for her to sit back down.

"I think I just felt something weird." He told her seriously.

"What is it?" She frowned with concern because he looked spooked.

"I think I just experienced what it feels like to be jealous." He rubbed her wrist, the one with the scar as she sat back down and looked at him. He went on. "I was jealous of you and Ham just now. I've never been jealous before. I mean, I've felt _**possessive**_. But this was something else. This isn't good."

"It's not a bad thing." She smiled to herself, hardly believing he was telling her this. "It happens to everyone."

"_**No**_**t **... to me."

"It doesn't mean anything bad." She tried to reassure him. "Lots of people are jealous for all kinds of reasons."

"An example please."

"Like…" She searched her mind. "Like Charlie."

"Well, he _**should**_ be jealous. He'll never have a woman like you, Cumquat."

"No." She shook her head. "Charlie isn't jealous of you about me. He's jealous of Thomas because he's close to you."

He winced now like she was saying something quite ridiculous.

"No, no, it's true." She ignored the buzzer again to finish the thought. "I saw it the other day when he brought Thomas here for you. He watched the two of you reminiscing and talking about your time together and I could see it in his eyes. Charlie resents Thomas because you treat him like a dear friend. I think he wants to be seen as being as important to you as Tom is."

"You make him sound like a fag. Charlie's straight as an arrow. Men don't get jealous of other men."

She smiled. There was something poignant about his childlike inability to process emotion without jumping to simplistic conclusions. It sparked something protective in her. He really was handicapped in this area. As brilliant as he was in objectively manipulating the emotions of others, processing his own was like a foreign language.

"Jack. Believe me. Charlie wants your respect. Despite whatever else he does or says, he wishes he could be regarded as warmly as you regard Thomas. I don't think he even realizes it himself."

He frowned harder, mulling it over. The buzzer went again so she went to the oven and retrieved the "toad-in-the-hole". It looked perfect, baked to a golden brown, the sausages sizzling in the nest of Yorkshire pudding. She brought it over to the table with oven gloves and set it carefully on the trivet that was waiting.

The Joker looked at it as he sipped his coffee while she went to get plates and utensils.

"What in the name of Sweet Jesus is that?"

She came to the table and put a plate in front of him.

"It's "toad-in-the-hole". It's British. Try it." She cut a piece and lifted it to his plate.

"You still didn't answer my question." He poked at a bit of sausage with his fork.

"I did. I said it's "toad-in….."

"The other question."

"What was the question? I forget." She sat down across from him and watched him get ready to taste it.

"Ham. Is he good-looking?"

She shook her head and sighed heavily. There was a pause as she wondered if she should tell such a big lie.

"He's hideous."

"Oh good." He grinned with satisfaction. "Let's eat."

* * *

Charlie's "place" turned out to be a rustic cabin about an hour out of Gotham, sitting on three acres of land, two of which were wooded with stands of mature pine, cedar, oak and maple trees. He had explained to Janice on the drive up that he had won the land in a poker game when he was in Afghanistan, before he was married. He wasn't even sure the guy he won it from actually owned it but found out, happily, upon his return home from his tour that his fellow soldier was good for his debt and the deed was transferred to Charlie. Charlie moved from his native Connecticut to Gotham to be closer to his prize and new project. He immediately tore down the makeshift shed that was there and started to clear the land and recycle the wood into the cabin he was building single-handedly for over ten years now in his spare time. His carpentry and building skills were evident as they drove up to the long building, with a wrap around veranda and a stone chimney on the east corner.

They sat in the truck for a moment as Janice took in the sight of it.

"Wait a minute." She looked at him suspiciously. "Isn't this where that Walton family lives? You know …. Ma, Pa, and John Boy?"

"No. They have a two-storey. This is just a bungalow." He let the teasing go by. He could tell she was impressed.

"That." Janice sighed in disbelief. "Is amazing."

"Don't' get too excited. It's still not finished. The inside is just coming along. Still relying on wood for heat but I have running water now." He jumped out of the truck and went around to help her out with her basket. She stepped down onto the rough patch of grass and noticed the stones, the same type that formed the chimney, laid in a path to the front steps.

"It's like an enchanted cottage or something. You should be so proud." She reached out and touched his arm as they both looked at the front door painted green with a brass number 1015 on it. "Is that your street number? I don't see any street." She looked around and chuckled. They were fairly isolated after driving off a main road and going quite a few miles on a side road to reach this place. She hadn't seen another house for miles.

"No, no street. 1015 is Leo's birthday. I thought we should have a house number."

She smiled. Every time he mentioned that boy, his face lit up. It was so very obvious that Leonardo was the most important person in his life. His love for that child was fierce. She wondered if she would ever get to meet him.

The hour long drive had gone by quickly. They found that they had no shortage of things to talk about. She told him more about the loss of her parents and how close she was to her cousin Pamela. Pam was one year older than her and people thought they were sisters and when they were younger, twins. They looked so much alike. She was from her birth father's side of the family – the Isley's.

Charlie told her about his older brother, Dan, the lawyer. He was trying to help Charlie come up with a separation agreement that Cha Cha would accept so that he could leave the marriage soon. He didn't go into details about that except to say that there was a complication in the relationship that had to be sorted out before he could leave.

He also told her about his parents. His father was a retired judge, of all things, who did not approve of Charlie joining the army, the woman he married, the very shady aspect of how he made a living and just about everything that Charlie had ever done. His mother, on the other hand, sounded like a lovely woman, a long-suffering wife, with a very big heart who showered Charlie with unconditional love. He took great pleasure in telling Janice that it really irked his successful lawyer brother that he, Charlie, the black sheep, was still the apple of their mother's eye. She didn't like Cha Cha but she tolerated the relationship and was crazy about Leo. All-in-all, Charlie came from what would be described as a privileged background. It was more than a little surprising to Janice that his life had taken such a drastic turn from how he was raised. Yet, she sensed this man was above all else, an individual. He was his own man. There were many layers to Charlie Beaufort; carpenter, criminal, soldier, father and after surveying his "place" – he was definitely a pioneer at heart.

"Com'on, let's get the food inside. Then I'll take you for a walk around to show you the creek in the woods and the rest of the property."

"Haven't you got work to do?" She teased.

"Yup, the roof. I have to patch it and I need to clean the fireplace flue. Won't take that long. I really just like having you here. I wanna show you around."

He hadn't made any attempt to kiss her. Janice thought that was a bit odd. Yet, he was being so warm and open, she didn't concern herself too much. Thing was, she just really wanted that kiss. Watching him, so animated and relaxed, his longish dark hair on the messy side due to the breeze, he looked even more delicious than usual so that her attraction was at an all time high. Yet, he made no move and she didn't feel comfortable approaching him. She didn't know him well enough yet.

"Then let's survey your estate, Captain." She smiled at him, so pleased that he wanted to share this special place with her.

* * *

After breakfast Claire had moved into the Joker's "office" to use the computer to get caught up on world news and check her positions in the currency markets that she navigated for a living.

The Joker returned to the kitchen to grab some more coffee and found Thomas Schiff sitting at the kitchen table. He had obviously let himself in with the key that had been given to him as part of his employment as cook for the Joker.

"Schiffy!" The Joker was genuinely surprised to see him there. "What are you doing here? It's Sunday. I told you Sunday was your day off."

"Oh, hi." Schiff tossed his dark bangs out of his eyes and looked a little anxious and perhaps apologetic. "I just had to get out of my building for a while. I had a fight with my landlady. I th… th… thought I'd come here and see if … if you needed anything. Does Claire need anything?"

"What happened with the landlady?" The Joker grabbed his coffee and sat down across from the nervous young man. "You want coffee?"

"No, no." Schiff relaxed a little, relieved that the Joker was not bothered by his unexpected presence. "She told me that I creep her out. I didn't even do anything or say anything. I just have to be around her, like in the hall… hall … hallway or laundry room, or something. She claims I look at her funny."

"_**Do**_ you look at her funny?"

"No, no! Not at all. I try not to look at her at all. She just gets all … all … bothered, for nothing." Schiff twisted his pale hands together and frowned. "She just hates me. She's hateful."

"Why not camp out here for a while? Give her some space."

Schiff looked at the Joker like he had just told him he had won a lottery.

"Really? Here? You wouldn't m… m… mind that?"

"I've got four floors of rooms, rooms and more rooms. Pick one. Just not on the fourth floor. That's Claire's and we, ah… " He looked at Schiff and wondered if he should mention the need for privacy. Then he decided it was necessary if he was going to be spending time there.

"Look, Schiffy. Claire wants a baby."

"Really?" Schiff's eyes grew big with excitement. He leaned forward in his chair and explained. "I know where I can get her one. There's a woman in my building. She has four kids. She … she… she yells at them all the … all the time. She hates her children. She just had a fif… fif… number five. She shouldn't have babies. It's a boy. Would Claire like a boy do you think?"

"She'd love a boy, but, you see, she wants to have her _**own**_ baby." The Joker grinned at Schiff's eagerness to please Claire. "And it's not going to improve your relationship with the landlady if you start carrying babies out of there that don't belong to you."

"Oh. Is Claire preg… preg… pregnant?"

"No. But, I'm doing my best to get her that way."

Schiff got quiet and looked at the Joker for a moment and then heaved a sigh as it sunk in. He shook his head.

"So, you and she … "

"All the damn time." The Joker clarified it for him. "So we need some privacy, you know? You should stay off the fourth floor unless you want to see a live action porno. I mean, I don't care but Claire might not like it."

"That means you'll be a father." Schiff shook his head, still taking it all in, what it all meant. "Do you want a boy, like Claire, or a … or a … or a little girl?"

"I don't care." The Joker said dryly as he drained his coffee cup. "This baby is for her. Not for me. I'm just doing her a favour. I like to share."

"She likes you a lot then." Schiff said it in such a way that Joker caught the disappointment being expressed.

"She's crazy about me." The Joker looked at the nervous young man with playful suspicion. "Hey Schiffy, you're not trying to horn in on my girl now are you?"

"No!" The redness crept into his face and he looked everywhere but at the Joker as he shook his head, firmly denying the obvious. "She's way too pretty for me. She's way too … too… but she's so kind." He sighed with resignation. "She's so very kind."

"That she is." The Joker grinned. "And I know for a fact that she likes you."

"She does?"

"Yeah, well, she likes me better, but she does like you. In a maternal sort of way. She's forty-one you know?"

"No." Schiff looked up in disbelief.

"Yup. It's why she has to get crackin' if she wants a kid. Her eggs are drying up." The Joker snorted as he realized the joke that had just fallen out, like a little gift and he started to giggle. "Eggs? Get crackin'? Get it?"

Schiff looks sideways, at a loss.

"Well, anyway." The Joker continued. "It's a little tricky to get a bun baking in that oven. The main thing is, she needs to stay relaxed and happy. That will help as much as anything to give her what she wants."

"Oh." Schiff listened with interest. "I'll do my best to make sure she's got everything she needs."

"But, she's working with the right guy, you know?" The Joker enjoyed how Schiff hung on his every word as if it was the gospel being preached and he was the freshly converted. "I'm a fairly virile guy and I'm giving it all I got. I mean _**all …. **_I got."

"You can do it, J." Schiff looked at him with awe.

"Thanks, Schiffy."

* * *

The picnic lunch that Janice had prepared was over the top. Fried chicken, potato salad, a little ice chest containing four tall cans of ice cold beer, a thermos of hot coffee and homemade peanut butter cookies. They had devoured it outside at a little bistro table under an oak tree. The water in the creek could be heard in the distance because it was so quiet and still in this place.

She liked to talk. He wasn't sure if it was nerves or just her natural tendency but she talked about just about everything. It was fine with him because he was not good at keeping up his end of a conversation. It didn't seem to bother her at all. She wasn't boring either. She told him more about her childhood, her army training, but steered clear of discussing her lost soldier, however, he had learned his name was Michael and they had been high school sweethearts.

As she talked, Charlie sat back and enjoyed his beer, just taking in the sight of her, in the sunshine, her hair a shining copper wreath around her head and her quick hazel eyes scrunching up so often, close to laughter. She was very funny. She wasn't afraid to look goofy. He really, really liked that. He liked everything about her and he was making every effort to make good on his promise to be a gentleman. He wanted nothing more than a repeat of what they had shared on Friday night but he was determined to show some restraint and prove that he really wanted to know more about her. He wasn't just here with her for sex.

But what his brain told him, didn't seem to be understood by his body. The attraction was too strong so that he had to deal with a sort of struggle going on between his big head and his little head. It was frustrating and distracting. He told himself he could get through this. He really didn't want to mess this up by rushing her again. He reminded himself of how fragile she was right now with all that had happened to her in the last while. He had to protect her from guys like him.

After lunch, he had left her to her hand sewing as he climbed up on to the roof to take care of a breach in the shingles around a vent in the kitchen. There had been some leaking that conveniently enough had occurred right above the kitchen sink. He had removed his coat and stowed his harness and gun in the truck. He was clad in his jeans, combat boots and a gray flannel shirt, untucked, the ends blowing in the breeze that was getting a little stronger. His tools were handy and it looked like about a ten minute job but he kept looking out into the yard and watching her. She had abandoned her sewing and was walking very slowly around the edge of the yard where the trees took over. He stopped working and tried to figure out what she was doing. Then he saw it. A small rabbit was only feet from her and she was stalking it.

As he watched her move, slowly, with what could only be called an awkward sort of grace, he was reminded of how the Joker had called her "little pony" that day at the Armory. It was true. She had long legs and the way she moved was like a new foal, an awkward grace, an off kilter elegance. The Joker might be crazy but he could be very perceptive at times.

He lit a cigarette as he stopped working and just watched her crouching and then springing forward to catch the little animal by the scruff and pull it towards her, against her chest, holding it very tightly so that it stopped struggling to free itself. He took a long drag and blew the smoke into the clear blue sky as he watched her snuggle it with her nose, stroke it's ears and just envelope the tiny body with love and affection. He felt something loosen in his chest yet he could hardly breathe. How was it that he was here with her? A woman, like her, was here with him.

She saw him watching and she grinned up at him, proud of her capture.

"She's so soft!" She exclaimed. "She's trembling though so I think I scared her." With that, she turned to the woods and bent down to free her capture, to return it to its natural state. "Bye, bye little one!" He heard her call out as the rabbit bounded away deep into the woods. Then she turned back to see him still watching. "You need something up there Charlie?"

"No. No." He took a quick drag on his cigarette and then discarded it as he did out of habit, to reach out a toe to crush the butt but he forgot he was on a slope and it had rolled away – somewhere. He picked up his hammer to demonstrate that he was really working . "I'll be done in a few minutes. Just one shingle and a couple of nails."

She nodded and went to sit back down at the table under the tree, to pick up her sewing again. She was making some sort of costume for her cousin and hand-sewing the sequins in place around the bodice.

Charlie finally returned his attention to the job at hand, trying to clear his head so he could concentrate when he heard her shout.

"Fire! Charlie, the roof's on fire!"

He looked up but she was out of sight. She had run up to the cabin and out of his range of vision. At the same time, he felt a wall of heat as he turned to see the edge of the roof enveloped in flames jumping as high as he was tall. His cigarette butt had rolled straight into the rain gutter along the edge and ignited the dead leaves that gathered there.

In a reflexive response, he reached forward to swipe at the flames but they were creeping along the edge too quickly. In fact they had edged their way between him and where the ladder leaned against the eaves – his escape. Before he could register the blistering on his forearm from his exposure to the heat, he saw a silver spray of glorious water arc over the edge of the roof to battle the flames. He moved back as the heat turned to dark, acrid smoke and the wind blew it directly at him, like a punishment for being so careless. He coughed as the scorched air hit his lungs. Janice had found the garden hose and was using it full blast, shooting directly upwards and over the eaves. She kept yelling his name. Finally as the smoke cleared a little and the flames were completely doused, his lungs cleared and he moved toward the edge of the roof and looked down where she waited by the base of the ladder.

"Charlie, come down here." She shouted, starting to climb toward him.

"Stay there." He put out his hand. "I'm coming."

Before his feet could hit the ground, her hands were on him, checking him out. She started pulling on his shirt front, clawing at the buttons. The shirt was burnt on the right sleeve.

He helped her get it off and she grasped his arm to inspect the welt on his forearm that had blossomed from the heat.

"Oh my God, you're burnt." She touched the edges gingerly, turning worried eyes to him. "We have to have that looked after."

"It's not a burn." He blew on it. "Just a heat blister. It's fine."

"Soak it. Cold water." She grasped his hand to take him to the cabin.

"Wait." Shirtless now, he closed his eyes to try and get a grasp on what had just happened. He urged her closer as he leaned back against the ladder and looked at her seriously. "I nearly burned down the cabin. You saved the place. That fire was just a minute or so from being beyond control. Thank you."

"What happened?" She moved closer and stroked his bare shoulder in a worried manner.

"My cigarette. I let it roll into the gutter before I put it out." Then he reached out with his injured arm and grasped her chin in his hand. "It's all your fault."

The look she gave him was so comical he laughed out loud. She protested.

"I was minding my own business, communing with nature, sewing….."

"You're a major distraction." He smiled at her. "You walk around here being so damn beautiful and your hair like that looks like an angel or something. Janice, I can hardly breathe around you I want you so much."

"You do?" Her sweet mouth went into a smirk. "I was wondering because you haven't even tried to kiss me today."

"I promised myself I'd be a gentleman. I decided I wouldn't approach you that way so that you wouldn't think I just want sex."

She smiled at him and touched a few strands of his dark hair that were hanging in his eyes.

"You sweet man. Charlie, you don't have to hold back with me. I want you to be able to ask for what you want. We don't have to play games."

"I'm a horny bastard." He said it like it was the most shameful thing he had ever admitted to. "But with you. With you, I'm beyond horny. It's like … like… high school horny. You know? You remember high school horny?"

She twisted her mouth to keep from laughing. "Wasn't that a musical?"

He rolled his eyes and kept unburdening his soul. "I don't deserve someone like you. I keep telling myself that if I really cared about you I'd simply walk away and…"

"Don't you dare." She said it so forcefully that he blinked at her, startled. He didn't know how to respond.

"I mean … " She softened her tone. "If you want to walk away, if it's about your wife, to preserve your marriage, then of course you should. But please don't do it because you _**care**_ about me. If you care about me, it's the last thing you should do. Don't you see how backwards you have that?" She tried to control the tears she could feel were just a breath away. She wanted to hold it together. But all this talk of walking away was taking her to the brink. She had just gotten close to him.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't." She reached around his waist in an embrace and laid her head against his bare chest. He smelled of wood smoke. She closed her eyes as she felt his arm close around her shoulders tightly and his chin rest on top of her head. "Just come inside so I can look after that arm. After that I want you to make love to me. Maybe you forget how much I want you too. Life is so short Charlie. You can't always wait for the right moment. You nearly went up in flames. Everything can."

"Life is short." Charlie chuckled despite the seriousness of her sentiment. "Where have I heard that before?"


	31. Chapter 31 All The Little Emotions

**Author's Note – Good God, this is late. I know I say all the time I'll try to publish more frequently but I really will try in future. Thanks to everyone who reads and takes the time to comment. Extra long chapter here. A quick note to those who would rather have all Jack/Joker and Claire than having to read Charlie/Janice. Charlie is intricate to the story and has sort of taken on a life of his own. I apologize but these things happen. Joker/Jack/Claire is still the heart of the story and will take center stage again. Thanks for your understanding. PD - shout out to sweet Lauren.**

The Endgame

Chapter Thirty-One

_"All the Little Emotions"_

Charlie sat at the kitchen table, shirtless, while Janice took her time pressing a cool cloth against the blistering welt on his right forearm to sooth the sting and to make sure it was clean. Then she carefully applied a strip of clean flannel she found at the bottom of her sewing basket; a left over from a baby blanket she had made for a friend.

"Will the teddy bears make it all better?" Charlie smirked at the fabric that was decorated with frolicking stuffed bears and rainbows.

She just smiled as she wrapped it carefully and started to stitch the overlap neatly and snugly. "It will keep it from getting infected. Does it hurt much?"

"Nah." He shrugged and watched her nimble fingers work with precision. Then his attention was drawn to some tendrils of auburn hair that had loosened from her braided updo, teasing her neck as she leaned over to work. "God, I love your neck."

She shivered when she felt him kiss the back of her neck and nuzzle her hair. "I'm almost done. Hold still." She told him softly.

At the end of the row of stitching she tied a small, neat double knot. Then she held the end tightly and nodded at him to go ahead. He picked up the scissors, rather awkwardly in his left hand and snipped the excess off. They looked at each other. He was grinning with that adorable little dimple showing in his left cheek. They both knew what came next. He cleared his throat.

"I should go and tidy up a bit." His shyness was returning as he broke their gaze and looked down at his bandage. "Before…"

"You're fine." She suddenly felt shy herself. After all, it was broad daylight. No lights to turn out. "I like my men smoked and cured like bacon." She was referring to the aroma of wood smoke that was in his hair and on his clothing from the fire on the roof.

He snorted a laugh and ventured a look at her again. "Com'on, I'll show you the bedroom. I made the bed myself out of white pine. Maybe we could try and burn that down too."

She rubbed her blue-jeaned thighs anxiously where she sat and returned his shy look with one of her own. "That's one fire I won't be trying to put out."

"Oh … okay." He had to look away again. "Fair warning."

They stood up. Janice felt her knees threaten to give out as he grasped her hand to lead her to the back of the cabin where he took her through the last door on the right. He dropped her hand and moved ahead of her for a moment but he wasn't quick enough that she didn't notice that he had leaned over a bedside table to turn a framed picture down, out of view. She didn't have to guess who was in the picture. She tried to put it out of her mind as she took in her surroundings.

The small bedroom was closer to the back of the lot where the trees cast their afternoon shadows through the large, uncurtained window, so it was softly lit. The wind was picking up outside and as it shuffled the leaves on the trees, it cast a lace of dancing shadows across the cream coloured blanket that served as a bedspread. It gave the whole room a dreamlike, underwater atmosphere. The soft turquoise paint on the walls only added to that feeling. She glanced down at the ancient, elegantly worn oriental carpet that was protecting the plank floor from the heavy four poster bed. Even she could tell that the bed was finely made. The headboard had been hand carved with a sunburst in the centre, rays streaming outward strong and majestic. The wood looked unstained, pale and polished to a soft luster. The tall stout posts at the corners gave it a distinctively masculine touch.

"You made this?" She sat on the edge and reached to touch the rays carved into the pale wood.

"Yup." He rubbed the carved pine cone on one of the posts fondly. "I copied the design from something I saw once in Spain."

Janice mentally added "artisan" to the long list of attributes she had already ascribed to him. This was an amazing man. She glanced at the picture frame, lying prone, the photo a secret for now. It reminded her that he was someone else's man. She recalled how he had assured her that the marriage was done. He had been working on the exit plan well ahead of meeting her. Something was delaying his actual leaving for now. It was complicated, he said. He didn't wear a wedding ring. He had told her that his wife did not come to this place. She didn't like the country.

"Where did you go, Baby?"

"What?" She looked up suddenly at the sound of his voice.

"You're a million miles away. Is something wrong?" He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders to get her to turn toward him. He looked at her worried expression and studied her eyes for a moment. "Second thoughts?"

"No." She kicked off her boots and scooted across the bed and lay down on a pillow, getting settled. "Come here." She held out her arms and gave him a glorious smile. She would enjoy him while she had him and try not to think about how this was bound to end up being exactly what it looked like; an affair with a married man who would more than likely decide to stay with his wife because, after all, who needs more complications?

He lay down next to her and turned on his side to lean over her and teased his fingers through the soft strands of amber that the wind had loosened. He touched her soft pink mouth with finger tips and then leaned down to kiss her, first delicately and then deeply, expressing his unraveling passion. She reached up to wrap her arms around his naked torso and pulled him down onto her, craving more contact.

He broke the kiss for a moment, enjoying how her body arched up, melting into his, so submissively; her waist was willowy, her whole body, so delicately made yet strong. His unbandaged arm, under her now, moved into the small of her back, his hand cradling one hip, slender, yet womanly, the curve so pleasing to his senses.

"Let's get rid of these clothes." He rubbed her stomach and pushed a hand under the sweater, reaching up to nestle his fingers around a bare breast. "Don't you ever wear a bra?" He chuckled as he tweaked her pert nipple.

"Not much." She closed her eyes to the pleasure. "Just for work. I sort of like the freedom of going without. And I'm not exactly over-endowed." She smirked at him, with a touch of chagrin. "My girls are self-supporting."

"Your girls are beautiful." Charlie spoke to her in her ear in his low, husky voice and it made her shiver. He pushed her sweater higher to bare both breasts and kissed each one, reverently, in turn. "And …. what'd ya know?" He let his finger trail down between, in her soft cleavage. "I found more freckles."

* * *

The Joker took the steps two at a time to join Claire in her room for their usual afternoon chess game. He carried two cups of coffee – hers black and his laced with sugar. The door was ajar so he pushed it open with his shoulder. She was already seated at the small table, putting the last white pawns in place on the board. She looked up as he handed her the coffee.

"Ready to be _**annihilated**_?" He chewed on the last word to give it some drama and grinned down at her before sitting, as though marking his superiority. "Again."

"Arrogance…" She said softly, reminding him of his half-hearted efforts to rid himself of that particular trait. It could be a liability in this game. Arrogance led to over-confidence and over-confidence could lead to grave errors in judgment. "What will you ever do when I finally say 'checkmate' to your black king?" She watched him sit down across from her to get settled. He unbuttoned his vest and loosened his tie. He surveyed her amused smirk and smacked his lips in mild annoyance.

"You'll never know, my little Cumquat." He leaned torward her and tilted his head, as though making an important point. "Cause it's never gonna happen. You start. Make it good. I need a challenge."

He watched her as she put a small determined fist up to her chin to rest it there as she contemplated her opening. The lava lamp was turned on as the window was still partially boarded and the room was dim, the sun being around the other side of the tenement at this time of the afternoon.

He examined her in the soft light. She had changed into another borrowed dress. This one was chocolate brown wool with a low neckline that showed off her pearl choker and her tantalizing cleavage to great advantage. Her hair was piled up casually in a lazy bunched bun, tendrils cascading against her pale neck and shoulders. The dress's sleeves were long but the right one rode up as she placed her hand to her chin to contemplate the board and he took note of the star-shaped scar on her right wrist- her souvenir from her time in Arkham.

"Schiffy was here earlier."

"He was?" She put her hand down and looked at him, interested; more interested than beginning this game, apparently. "But it's Sunday. You gave him Sundays off."

"He's having trouble with his landlady. She's creeped out by his, ah ….. habits. So I told him he could crash here for a few days or weeks, whatever. Just to give her some space. Let him relax a little. He'll move in tomorrow morning. He knows this floor is private. He won't bother you." He frowned at her hesitation to get the game started. "We're playing chess, right Cupcake?"

"Of course." She still didn't make a move. "Thomas doesn't bother me."

He began to drum his fingers on the table and then took a huge sigh to show he was still waiting for her to start. Again, she seemed more intent on conversation.

"I know how you feel about psychotropic drugs, Darling, but is there any other reason you encourage him to stay off his medication?" She picked up her coffee and took a small sip.

"Darling?" He raised an eyebrow. "So, it's 'Darling' now?"

"Well, if you can call me by names of baby animals, fruits and baked goods, then I can call you Darling." She said sweetly, putting her chin in her hand again, looking at him playfully.

He blinked at her a few times, and then frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. It seemed like a small concession. Then he went on to answer her question. "I don't want Schiffy on meds because he's no good to me on meds. He's more, ah, _**suggestible**_, without his chemical cocktail."

Claire sat back in her chair and looked at him in shock. "Jack. That's terrible."

"No." He looked at her reasonably. "That's just _**me**_. You forget who you're dealing with sometimes, Pumpkin."

"But he's not just here for you. He's entitled to a life, something more, if ….."

"As far as I'm concerned, he **is** just here for me." He squared his shoulders and gave her a stare that made her frown softly. "And if you saw him on meds, you wouldn't think it was better for him. The only way they can make Schiffy approach anything close to normal, whatever that is, is to drug him into a walking coma. When we were in Arkham together, I practically had to chew his food for him. Believe me, he's better off ….. without." He nodded sagely to encourage her agreement. He watched her turning it over in her mind as her body language relaxed again and she went back to her chin in hand pose, deep in thought. "Claire Bear? Honey? Could you move a piece please? The game can't start until you do. If you delay much longer, I'll have to go and shave again."

She rolled her eyes at his exaggeration but she still didn't reach for a piece.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment to find some patience. When he opened them again, she was gazing at him, head still in hand, chess game still in limbo. He was about to speak when he took note of the strange way she was looking at him. Then she looked away and smiled mysteriously. Now, he was more interested in that look. He'd never seen that one before.

"Do you want to play chess at all right now?" He ventured a guess. She looked at him again and he noticed her eyes flit over his torso and then she made eye contact again. Her pupils were huge and dark. Could it be?

"If you want to, I guess." She shrugged one delicate shoulder and then her fingers came up to grasp a strand of long brunette locks and she twirled it coyly, that mysterious smile playing on her ruby lips. He thought he noticed a blush beginning just under her pearl collar and extending up into her cheeks.

He twiddled his black queen with his fingertips as he studied her for a few moments, trying to determine if the vibes he was feeling were, in fact, correct.

"Baby, are you horny?"

"What?" She sat up now but didn't make eye contact. The blush went full blown now and she put a self-conscious hand up to her cheek as she felt the heat. "I mean. What a question."

"And the answer is?" He giggled at her flustered response to his suggestion. He always had to initiate their intimacy. She had never shown any sign of being interested and ready to go. This was a first. "Hmmmm?"

"Oh God, yes." She put her head down on her arm on the table to hide her face in shame as he started to giggle with delight.

"Tell me, is it the corn cob grin or the way my scars glisten in the lamp light?" He asked dryly, muffling his mirth. That got her to sit up and look at him again.

"Don't say things like that." She admonished him softly, reaching a hand over to grasp his sleeve, somewhat shyly. "You know I adore you."

"Oh yeah. I forgot." He picked up the black queen and looked at it as though he was taking in every little detail. "You _**love**_ me." He smirked.

She went to say something but thought better of it. Her hand gripped his sleeve more tightly for a moment. She felt his arm stiffen. She let go. As she pulled her hand back, she paused to move a white pawn forward two spaces without much thought. She waited, in silence, eyes on the board, for him to make his move.

He studied her as she sat, quiet, eyes on the board. His black knight leapt out, ahead of the pawns, in his usual bold opening. Normally, this would elicit a deep sigh from her and a look of despair. But she didn't respond except to move another pawn, one space this time.

"Someone's pissed." He said in sing-song fashion. "Don't wanna fuck me anymore?"

"I'm not pissed." She finally looked at him. Her expression was one of sad resignation. "I just don't understand you sometimes, that's all."

"Oh, I think there's lots that you don't understand." He gave her a sideways, pointed look that seemed almost like a warning.

"Well, clue me in then, okay?" She challenged him, eyes flashing now.

He looked at her and blinked hard for a moment. "Okay."

He noticed her flinch a little and her breathing rate picked up as though she was frightened by what he might say next. He made her wait while he moved his other knight out to join his mate in the front line. Then he gave full attention to her again.

"Here's the thing – pay attention, Baby Doll, okay?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath.

"You think you have your fluffy little Jack back." He began and she started to shake her head in protest but he put up a hand to shush her. "Oh yes you do. It was a mistake to remove the war paint. I mean, it was necessary if I was ever going to get laid. But, still ….. big mistake."

"I'm not that stupid." She managed to get in, eyes darkened with emotion now, but he cut her off.

"Yes you are. You became stupid the moment you started talking about l-o-v-e. That's the hallmark of a stupid person, Claire. Even you. brilliant as you are, IQ worthy of an atom-splitting nuclear physicist – you have joined the stupid club. Your membership card is in the mail, Baby." He paused and pointed at her white chess pieces. "Your move … _**Stupid**_."

She flinched at the way he spat out the insult. She grabbed another pawn, hardly looking at it and moved it ahead one space. "And I don't think you're fluffy little Jack."

"Well, you're sure as hell not fucking the Joker. He's getting nothing. He has all but disappeared in this little arrangement. The guy is out in the cold, with a boner, while it's all 'Jack, Jack, Jack' with you."

"Why do you talk about the Joker in the third person?"

"Because that's where you have put him!" He shouted and she sat back, startled. "He's over _**there**_! Somewhere! But, he can't get near you!"

"He scares me." She admitted. "Maybe it's, oh, I don't know – the knives? The freaky deaky make-up? Could be his fondness for murder and explosions, not to mention, his reputation for being bloody _**insane**_. Gosh, I wonder why I wouldn't want to cuddle up with that? I'm so irrational." She rolled her deep green eyes dramatically, to make her point.

"Why do you talk about the Joker in the third person?" He repeated her question back to her now and watched as she drifted into confusion and blinked at him.

"Yeah." He nodded at her. "See what I mean? He's over there." He nodded to a corner of the room to make his point.

"Jack, you are the Joker. How can you say he's over there? The two of you are one. You can't be separated."

"And yet, we have been …. separated. As far as you're concerned."

"That's not true." She pointed to his side of the board. "It's your move."

"So you're ready to spread your gorgeous legs for the Joker?" He challenged her as he moved a black pawn two spaces. "Hmmmmm?"

She just stared at him and then swallowed hard. "Well, I don't see the need. If you're him. If you're … I mean … "

"Hmmm?" He waited for her to sort it out.

"It's just make-up." She reasoned out loud.

"War paint."

"I prefer you as you are." She said firmly, as though a decision had been made. "There's no need to put on his disguise in order to make a point."

"Claire. Newsflash. **_This_ **…" He gestured at his bare face. "… is my disguise."

Then he took his king's bishop and jumped one of his own pawns, an illegal and ridiculous move, just to see if she was paying attention. Nothing.

"I prefer this side of you." She repeated, again, but clearly deep in thought about what he had been saying. "I associate the Joker's painted face with fear. He attacked me, remember?"

"In retaliation for you attacking him." He reminded her as he moved one of her white pieces to the centre of the board without any comment from her. Now he was playing her side of the game for her.

"I was a captive. I was only doing whatever I had to do to get free. Do you blame me?" She looked at him seriously and then added quietly. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

He smiled. "There. See? You're speaking to the Joker now. I like that."

She looked at him and flinched, unsure if this was progress. She watched him moving his black rook in a totally irregular way and then reaching to move her white knight with no regard to its legal pattern of movement, never mind the fact he was moving _**her**_ pieces. She frowned more now, realizing that he had hijacked the game.

"You can't do that." She told him dryly and sat back in her chair to give him a stare.

"I think you should try and make peace with the Joker. After all, if you get pregnant, he's the father. It's his legacy we're talking about here."

"And how do you propose I make peace with him?"

He grinned now, moving the pieces all over the board in a totally erratic manner.

"Oh, I have some ideas."

* * *

If there was one bad habit Charlie Beaufort had, it was the way he fell asleep directly after having sex. Janice's girlfriends, and her cousin Pam, in particular, always complained about their men drifting off to sleep after doing the deed.

Actually, Janice didn't mind. To her it was a testament to how satisfied he was and to her part in granting him that deep peace. He had wrapped her up tightly into his arms before drifting off so she felt included and appreciated. It also gave her a chance to look at him, really stare at him, if she wanted to, without him knowing. She loved looking at him.

She took in the details of his disheveled longish hair, looking like a mussed up schoolboy, his eyelashes, dark and thick, against his burnished cheekbones. The faint hint of a dark beard along his strong jaw. She pushed a stray strand of his dark brown hair behind his ear and let her fingertips linger there before tracing down the straight bridge of his nose and then along his full upper lip – a perfect cupid's bow. She wondered if he knew how handsome he was. There was nothing in his manner that indicated that he knew he was gorgeous. To the contrary, he seemed very shy.

They were naked and he had pulled the blanket up to their waists before going to sleep. She grasped the edge of it at his waist and lifted it just enough to get a look at him beneath the blanket. He was on his back so she had a clear view of the plane of his flat, hard belly and his penis, relaxed now, resting along the inside of one thigh. She enjoyed the sight of it and sighed deeply in contentment, hardly believing that she had possessed it completely, deeply inside her, only minutes ago. He had brought her to orgasm well ahead of himself which had allowed her to concentrate on his pleasure and to witness his release as she held him, feeling him shudder as he moaned into her hair, a sound that she never wanted to forget.

The encounter had been just as urgent and passionate as it had been before. Very little foreplay as very little was required; they both had an immediate need for penetration. He was a commanding lover, in charge, and yet very concerned for her pleasure, asking her several times if she was okay. Was it good for her? Was he hurting her? She responded as she had the first time, whispering things in his ear that made him look at her in lust-filled wonder. Dirty patter she felt compelled to utter in the throes of pleasure. It was something she did almost involuntarily. She wasn't sure who it was talking because under normal circumstances, she didn't know those words. It was like she was possessed by a street walker who was used to banging whole boat loads of sailors on shore leave – probably all at once.

She let her gaze leave his manhood for a second to look at his face again, only to be met with two inquisitive grey eyes watching her with interest. She let the edge of the blanket drop quickly as she pushed her face against his shoulder, embarrassed at being caught.

"What were you doing?" He sounded as though he was holding back laughter.

"Nothing."

"Were you checking me out?"

"Yes." She couldn't look at him.

She felt a cool rush of air as the blanket was yanked off of her, leaving her curled up in a fetal position as he sat up with the entire blanket wrapped around him.

"Hey!" She protested.

"Just checking you out." He grinned at her and wrestled softly with her to get her on her back, arms pinned over her head, until she stopped fighting and lay still. "That's better. Now, don't move. Let me have a good look."

He kissed her chin and then worked his way down slowly, stopping along the way to caress and comment.

"Shoulders like a ballerina. Arms graceful but killer strong. Breasts that make me drool, a waist like a girl and hips I love to grind on. And then, oh Momma, one pretty little kitty that drives me wild and oh look - legs. Oh my god, the legs on this woman…" He ran his hands up and down her thighs and down along her calves to her ankles. "Supermodel gams. And the feet, so cute, with toes I'd love to suck." He tickled her right foot and she pulled away, giggling.

"I'm getting cold." She mewed like a pitiful thing and he tilted his head at her and bit his lip.

"Awww, poor baby. Com'ere." He opened his blanket to take her inside against him and wrapped them both up tightly against the autumn afternoon coolness. "All snug again." He brushed his nose against hers softly and sighed in contentment. "I don't want to go back – ever."

"You mean the city?" She searched his eyes, trying to read his thoughts.

"Everything. Gotham. The battle ground at home. The Joker."

"But you have to go home for Leo." She said softly, rubbing his bare chest under the blanket, right about where his tattoo would be. The one that said 'Leonardo'.

He looked at her for a moment as if he was amazed.

"Aren't you sweet to point that out. Of course, I have to go home for him."

"And the rest will get sorted out, eventually." She nuzzled his cheek in a soothing manner, speaking softly. "There are other ways to earn a living, Charlie. You're a very talented man. You could leave the Joker. Leave that life."

There was a moment of silence and his gaze focused on a distant point as though he could see the future. "It's not that easy, Baby. You don't quit the Joker. He quits _**you**_." He looked at her again and she frowned.

"Someone should take him out. The city would pin a medal on them."

"I nearly did."

"What?" She grasped his chin to look into his eyes. "When?"

"Friday morning. Day after the heist. I figured he would be so disappointed in me, the way I dumped him there, that he would be taking me out. So I went over, ready to make a pre-emptive strike."

"And?" Her eyes were round with alarm.

"His woman was there."

"The Joker has a woman?" She looked at him now like he must be mistaken. Charlie laughed at her expression.

"The boss has plenty of women, believe me. But, this one is sort of special."

"She must be crazier than he is." Janice seemed genuinely disturbed at the thought of the Joker having a love life.

Charlie searched for a way to describe it to her.

"She's very protective of him. It came down to a draw, really. She showed me she was armed and ready to plug me if I tried anything. I think she was ready to follow through with it. She's older than him. Must be close to forty. And he's only about your age, I think. Anyway, I couldn't do it. Not just because of her but because I was thrown off by his appearance."

She frowned, confused. He continued.

"He didn't have the stuff on, you know, the paint. He was just sitting there, looking close to normal. I was ready to take out that painted face, the one that seemed less than human. But when I saw him. And how young he is. I couldn't do it."

"What does he look like?"

"He's not bad looking at all. He looks nothing like he does when he's all done up as the Joker. His hair was clean, blonde instead of green, face fresh-scrubbed. I mean the scars are still there of course….."

"Wait a minute." She looked at him in disbelief. "Those are _**real**_?"

"Of course they're real. What did you think?" He smiled at her horrified expression.

"I thought they were prosthetics. You know, to make him look scarier."

"No. No. They're the real thing."

"Oh my God." She unconsciously reached up to touch the corner of her mouth.

"I know, right?" Charlie nodded at her. "Can you imagine the pain?"

"Who did that?"

"I doubt he even knows. Word on the street is that at least one was self-inflicted and he stitched it up himself. That's why it's such a mess."

"No." She sucked in her breath and held it while she contemplated it.

"So anyway, I didn't want to end up with her getting hurt. She has nothing to do with anything. She seems to be a decent woman."

"How could she be?"

"Well, how could you be here with me?" Charlie reminded her. "I don't deserve someone like you."

"Please don't talk like that." She pressed her nose against his fiercely and put her hands into his hair. "You're not like him."

He kissed her and brought her hands down in front of her and patted them. Then he reached around behind him and grabbed the picture frame he had turned down when they entered the bedroom earlier. He handed it to her as he sat up and pushed his hair back behind his ears. He rested against the headboard as he watched her finger it carefully, still not turning it over, as though it might explode. He reached for the cigarettes and lighter on the night table and lit one, blowing the smoke out lazily.

"Go ahead. It's time we got this out of the way."

She sat up beside him and pulled the blanket up over her breasts, modestly, and then carefully turned the picture over on her lap. She took in the details carefully as she fought to breathe normally.

It was a photo of a woman, laughing, with her arms around a small boy who was grinning, displaying a missing front tooth. The boy looked just like his mother. Dark haired, dark-eyed, honeyed complexion and both so very beautiful. The woman's hair was black and loose, just past her shoulders, and her figure was curvaceous. The kind most women could only aspire to.

Janice touched the boy's face with her fingers gently.

"Leo." She looked sideways at Charlie. He nodded and smiled, watching her expression carefully.

"And your wife." She didn't touch the woman in the photo. "That's Cha Cha."

He nodded again.

"That was the third and the last time she came up here. She was like a different person that day. But, she's never been back. It was a couple years ago."

"Your son looks at lot like his mother." She looked carefully at Leo's features. "But I think I see your nose."

"No, you don't." He said matter-of-factly. "Mom's nose too."

"That grin is sort of like yours." She looked at him again.

"It's just a coincidence." He butted his cigarette out after just a few puffs. "He's not mine, Janice. I'm not his real father."

She looked at him and frowned. He continued.

"She was pregnant when I met her. But I'm the only father he's known. And he feels like mine. I can't leave until I have some legal way of ensuring he stays mine. I can't lose him. She's using him to keep me there. I've provided way too well for her and now she's used to it. I've offered to keep paying if she'll just sign something to give me visiting rights, name me as guardian. Anything….."

"You could adopt."

"No. Birth father says no. She agrees with him. The whole blood is thicker than water bullshit."

"Do you have a lawyer?"

"My brother, Dan. He says I shouldn't leave until I have an agreement or it would count against me if it went to court. He also warned me to stay away from other women until we have an agreement." He looked at her sheepishly. "Well, one out of two isn't bad. He already sent over one proposal but she refused to sign. So, he's working on another to deliver this week.

We sweetened the alimony, the child support, and she can have the apartment, outright. I just want to be able to continue to raise my boy. And I want this place." He gestured to the room, indicating everything beyond; the land he cleared, the cabin he built, the home he created out of next to nothing. "It was mine before I met her and I need somewhere to live. I'm not going to have much left once she finally agrees to let me go. You should know you're hanging around with one broke-ass loser when all is said and done."

She ignored his last statement completely.

"She has to see reason."

"You don't know Cha Cha."

Janice forced herself to look at the woman in the picture again. She decided to admit to her intimidation.

"She is Hollywood gorgeous, Charlie. Your wife is a knock-out."

Charlie was used to this reaction from any woman who entered Cha Cha's orbit or even caught a glimpse of her. That look of defeat. Cha Cha's outer perfection unleashed insecurity in the most confident women. It was why she had no girlfriends. But, somehow, that look in Janice's hazel eyes, that look of anxious insecurity, made him feel sadder than he could even understand. He reached for the picture.

"Give me that."

She handed it to him obediently and he lay it back down on the table, face down. He turned to her and put his arm around her, bringing her in close to him again. He grasped her chin and made her look at him.

"I'm looking at the most beautiful woman in the world. You are truly fine inside and out. Look, I don't like to bad mouth the mother of my son. I don't hate her. She's Leo's mother and that would be disrespectful to him. She's been spoiled all her life and I'm as guilty as anyone in that department. No one can be surprised that she's turned out to be so self-absorbed. But, Janice you have to know that she has nothing on you, in any category, no way, no how."

He put his forehead against hers and looked deeply into her eyes that were getting misty, the coppery lashes growing wet. "I can't even believe I'm lucky enough to have caught your attention. You're smart and beautiful and so damn strong. The way you went out on a limb for me with the police is more loyalty than I've felt in eight years of marriage with her. You make me laugh and ….." He stopped for a moment as he searched for the right words. "You make me want to be a better man."

She didn't know what to say so she just laid her head against his shoulder and rubbed his chest.

"Charlie, do you want any more children? You know, one of your own?" She looked up at him. He shook his head with certainty.

"No. After raising Leo this far and seeing what I see here in Gotham, I wouldn't bring a child into the world. I mean, he's a great kid and lots of fun, but this place is too evil for innocents. I lose enough sleep worrying about him. You?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you want children some day? Did you and Michael have a plan?"

"He wanted three. Two boys and a girl. My plan was to talk him out of it, eventually. I feel exactly the same way as you do. Even more since he was killed and the carnage at the Armory. We should take care of the ones who are already unfortunate enough to be here."

"See? I knew you were smart." Charlie squeezed her closer.

"When do you have to get back?" She looked out the window at the afternoon light that was fading. "Should we get going?"

"Would you like to spend the night?"

"Here?" She sat back and looked at him like a little kid who was just told there was a treat coming.

"I don't have to be back tonight. As long as I'm there in the morning before Leo wakes up. To make sure he gets breakfast and gets to school. And I get over to start my day on the Joker's payroll. We can leave early and get back in time.

I got steaks in the freezer and potatoes in the storage shed. I can fire up the bar-b-q. I make a killer steak dinner. I even have some wine stashed in one of the cupboards. We can move the mattress out to the main room, and sleep by the fire. Leo and I do it all the time. I don't have cable but I got an old TV, video games, a DVD player and a whole box of movies to choose from. No chick flicks though. Just action movies and superhero cartoons. What do you think?"

"Are we really going to sleep?"

"Nah, not really."

"Okay, I'm in."

* * *

After the tense chess game in the afternoon, and a quiet supper in the kitchen where he spent most of his time ignoring her completely as he read a book about the Russian revolution, in Russian, propped up against the sugar bowl, Claire wondered if he would show up for their usual early evening rendezvous. He did. As she allowed him to take her to the bed and they let their undeniable, natural lust for one another take over the proceedings, she noticed something was different.

She knew that, emotionally, she had crossed a line a few nights ago when she declared her love for him. Since then, she had allowed herself the freedom of being more demonstrative of her true affection. She had spoken sweet things to him before but now, after her declaration, these murmurings in the throes of their sexual union, took on more meaning. Even the way she touched him was loaded with more depth of feeling and every molecule of her being ached to communicate to him how precious he was to her, despite her complete understanding that he could never reciprocate.

But tonight was different somehow. She felt him responding ever so slightly as though a layer of his multi-layered resistance had been removed. It was still Jack but somehow, he was, in subtle ways, responding to her more deeply than ever. This both pleased and worried her, knowing that he had difficulty processing emotions of any depth.

They were nearing completion of the session, their pleasure building up to climax, missionary position, her holding back from orgasm until he was finished just as he had determined was the best scenario for pregnancy. He felt so good inside her, she was having trouble avoiding climax. The sounds of pleasure from him were strained. He seemed to be fighting against something she couldn't identify. Her overwhelming affection caused her to whisper to him, close to his ear, as she wrapped her legs around his waist tightly.

"Tell me what's wrong, Love. I want to help. "

He continued to thrust, harder now, and looked into her eyes for a moment. There it was. Something different. They searched each other's eyes like they were excavating each other's soul and then she saw him flinch. His gaze went from open and trusting to pure fear. She tried to sooth him, by pushing his unruly curls away from his eyes, and rubbing his back. He continued to look at her like a deer in a clearing that has just seen the sun glint off the tip of an arrow. And then it went dark as she felt his large heavy hand clamp down over her eyes harshly. He spoke to her with labored speech as he was still fully engaged in intercourse that was becoming more aggressive by the second.

"Don't look at me." He commanded. His hand spread out to cover her nose as well, so determined was he to keep himself from her gaze.

"Jack, you're pressing too hard, I can't breathe." She panted, just on the edge of panic, gulping air through her mouth as she spoke. Still the pleasure from the physical connection, that continued, made her refrain from trying to get him to stop altogether. She just wanted him to calm down. "It's okay. It's okay. I won't look at you." She reached up to claw at his hand, to remove it and stop the claustrophobic feeling of drowning in the dark but his grip was like iron.

"Don't. Look. At. Me." His voice was deep and threatening.

"I won't. I won't. I'll close my eyes. I swear." She was coming close to hyperventilating now. She wanted him to stop – everything. Her panic was overtaking the pleasure and she needed to breathe.

Just at that moment, he went over the edge, his orgasm the most intense she had ever witnessed. His hand let loose involuntarily as he lost control of his senses. She immediately closed her eyes to avoid eye contact with him and she refrained from her natural inclination to cuddle and stroke him during climax and afterwards. She kept her hands to herself and her eyes closed, lying very still beneath him as he finished and quickly withdrew.

He paused just for a few seconds as he sat on the edge of the bed and spoke to her without looking at her.

"Finish yourself off. You have to come. You got what you want – don't waste it."

She kept her eyes closed as she heard the door close hard with his exit. Then she opened them and looked at the ceiling. She spoke to herself out loud.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

She had pushed him beyond what he could process. She had come so close to getting a real emotional connection to him but it was too much. She had pushed him into overload. She wanted to cry but couldn't. Damn her inability to shed tears. Her libido was squelched and she had no interest in "finishing herself off". She just lay there, miserable in the knowledge she had possibly caused him some emotional trauma with her own selfish need to express something he could not understand.

After about an hour of lying there, listening for any sign of his return, she got up and got dressed again. She had it in mind to go down to the computer and check the news, do some trading. Anything to get her mind off of how badly she had screwed up. He would have to come to her. She knew that by now. It was best to leave him approach and not force him to interact to satisfy her need to communicate.

She crept down the flight of stairs to the third floor "office". The door was ajar and the light was on. She stopped where she was and turned quietly, trying to avoid the squeaky boards in the ancient floor. But it was too late.

"I can hear you out there, Claire. Come in." His voice sounded normal, sort of teasing. She took a deep sigh of relief that he wasn't angry and went ahead through the office door.

He was at the computer, studying a map. It looked municipal. It looked like Gotham. His back was towards her but he didn't turn around. She approached calmly, careful not to touch him even though her hand was itching to sift through his hair or stroke his shoulder. She stood beside him and he looked up at her there.

"You'd make a terrible ninja." He teased her. " Wanna work?" He guessed her intention.

"No. No. It's okay. You got here first. I'll leave you to your … study."

But he grasped her hand as she turned away and she remained there, waiting for a clue as to what he wanted next.

He reached over and pulled another chair over across from his and urged her to sit down. Now they were face to face, their knees almost touching. He ignored the computer for now and it went to screen saver – a photo of the bat signal in the sky over Gotham. She recognized it from an article in the paper a few months ago.

"Listen, we need to bring things up to date." He began, leaning in, looking into her eyes as though nothing strange had happened just an hour before.

"Things?"

"You've been taking your temperature every morning?"

"Of course."

"It must be getting close. I looked at the calendar. A day or two or three at the most?"

Now she understood. He was counting down the days until he could be rid of her. Get her out from underfoot. Get back to the Joker. She swallowed hard against the hurt in her chest, even though she knew all along she couldn't expect anything else from him. She had promised him that she wouldn't.

"I can go now if you like." She said flatly, not looking at him. "You're under no obligation to finish this ridiculous plan."

"We're going to finish it." He reached out and touched her cheek to make her look at him again. "It's not an obligation. I want to do it. I like to finish things that I start. Especially something so enjoyable. I'm only trying to get a sense of where we're at because I have plans to make. Just as I'm sure you have plans to make when you get back to your own life again, hmmmm?"

"Not so much." She admitted. If he only knew how boring and useless her existence looked set in a future without him. She shuddered at the thought of going back to her apartment. To that mundane, flat life. For the first time, she was feeling panic at the idea of leaving. Who would look after him? But it was impossible to stay.

He started to go over the original plan as though to remind her more than himself.

"The minute your thermometer says it's ovulation time, we go at it hard and heavy. Well, harder and heavier. I mean, I'm cancelling everything that day. It's baby-making time, sunrise to sunset and lots in between. And then the day after – same thing. Day after that, you go home. We meet up ten days later to run the pregnancy test. Tests. Make that plural. Buy about three different kinds."

She was listening to him as he ran through it. She noticed he had not called her one pet name since he called to her in the hallway. He was speaking to her like they were planning an outing or an errand they had to run. She wrung her hands together in her lap anxiously.

"When will I see you after that?" She tried not to look at him.

"Well, if you're pregnant, I'll be coming around to make fun of you getting fat."

She looked at him now and her violated expression made him whoop with laughter. She had to smile. It was so him.

"No, no. You'll be adorable with a little belly." His manner had softened a bit. She breathed a little easier. He continued.

"And if you're not knocked up, well, I'm sure we'll see each other again. The chess, you know? But you have to be careful. Being an associate of mine is unhealthy. It draws all sorts of negative attention."

Associate. That word was so cold. But it would have to be enough. She would cling to that.

"Why do you look so sad, Cumquat?"

There it was. Her pet name. Like whiplash, she was being tossed between hope and despair like a leaf in the wind. But she smiled at him now. It was okay. She would take what she could get. It was all okay.

"We could keep in touch online." She tossed it out there, trying not to sound desperate or overly hopeful.

"We could but it would be sporadic. I move around a lot and computers aren't always available. For instance, I'll be leaving here shortly after you do and the computer will be gutted and burned. Where I go next is uncertain and what the technological set-up will be is just as uncertain. We'll play it by ear."

She nodded, trying to look understanding.

"You know you're better off out of this world, right?"

"I just worry about you. I don't like not knowing if you're okay. That's all." She came as close to the truth as she could without stating the honest truth which was more like 'I love you beyond all reason and it will nearly kill me to leave you and not be able to touch you, make love to you or even know that you're safe and well'.

"You know, that was impressive the other morning when you decided to threaten Charlie with your little cap gun – to protect yours truly."

She looked at him now, detecting a lesson about to be taught – a point to be made. He continued.

"I almost thought you might use that thing."

"I would have." She assured him. "You must have realized he was coming to harm you. It only made sense. He knew you were unhappy with him. He would consider it self-defense."

"Yeah, only thing is, Baby Doll. You forgot that he had a gun, probably in his pocket. That put it under the table, possible already pointed at you. He could have fired from his pocket and wounded you badly or worse, where you sat."

She frowned. "But he didn't."

"No. Because Charlie's not a natural killer and neither are you. I mean, I'm sure he killed in the service and he would kill if someone was attacking him or his precious family, but I've seen him in action. He can fuck someone up pretty good just with his hands. He's very quick and strong. He doesn't know his own strength and a beating from Charlie will bring you closer to checking out than you ever want to be. But, he always shoots to wound. Wounding me wouldn't solve his problem. And killing is difficult for him."

"There's a first time for everything." She reminded him.

"That's true."

"You were unarmed and you just sat there." She reminded him, still wondering how he could have made himself so vulnerable if he suspected Charlie's intentions just as she did.

"I wasn't unarmed. I had Cupid. I had already taken her from my vest and had her stuck under the table, at the ready. I was just watching him, for a sign, and I would have reached out in the pretence of patting him on the back and before he could see the glint of metal in my palm, he would have been stuck in the back, and forgotten all about the gun in his pocket. Next move would be the blade across his throat, just the right pressure, and he would have bled out in a matter of a minute, just long enough for me to have the pleasure of whispering in his ear "you're fired"."

She blinked hard at the coldness in his voice as he described his very detailed plan for murdering Charlie, right down to the words he would speak to him as he died. It was a reminder, as he was always pointing out to her, of who she was really dealing with.

"Can you trust him now?"

"Absolutely. You heard him apologize and swear it would never happen again. Guys like Charlie believe in all that code and promise bullshit. He's an ex-Marine. The worst for that kind of Dudley-Do-Right garbage. He's mine now. Completely."

"You sound pleased."

"I am. I like Charlie. He's the best."

And there it was. He had gone from full details of his plan to kill Charlie to expressing his affection for the man, in less than a minute.

But he was wrong about one detail. She would have definitely pulled the trigger.


	32. Chapter 32 It's Just Paint

_**Thanks to everyone who reads and takes the time to comment. **_

The Endgame

Chapter Thirty-Two

"It's Just Paint"

Monday morning, checking the bedside clock, Claire saw it was nearly 8:30 as she carefully tucked the thermometer under her arm to take her temperature, just as she had been doing for the last week and some days. She could hear that the Joker had his day already underway by the sound of male voices coming from the main floor and vehicles arriving on the gravel courtyard.

Almost absent-mindedly, she glanced at the reading before recording it on the piece of paper where he had carefully drawn a little chart for her, just for this purpose. She blinked at the double "9"s in the display. Ninety-nine – right on the button. One full degree higher; one _**full**_ degree.

She knew what it meant. Ovulation. But more than that, much more, it spelled the second to last day she would be in his company; here, in this place, this surreal world, that had become a sort of home for her. A mere forty-eight hours until she was banished from his presence to rejoin the so-called "normal" life she had led prior to that fateful moment in front of the pet shop when he had decided to pick her up to tend to some unfinished business.

She drew a neat little cross on the graph, connected the crosses and looked at the straight line with the tail sweeping upward. She had to tell him immediately. It was part of the agreement. She put the thermometer away in its case and folded the paper in two as she got out of bed to get dressed. Previously, she had been thinking about breakfast. Now, her appetite had vanished in the swirl of emotions caused by two little digits – 99. She bit her lip nervously. She had something else to prepare – for Charlie.

She washed up at the sink, brushed her hair, applied her make-up, put on a black wool skirt and a soft pink sweater, slipped into a pair of black leather flats, and then made her way down to the kitchen that was the hive of activity in this enormous abandoned tenement that he called home for now.

She stood in the kitchen doorway for a moment to take in the sight before her. The people who were now part of her everyday experience. Thomas was there, aproned, tending to eggs and keeping an eye on the toast as the coffee – probably the second pot of the day – was dripping, aroma filling the first floor with the scent of a busy morning. He used the spatula to take a swipe at the air, going after flying insects that only he could see.

Charlie was there, looking like he had a hard night, leaning on the kitchen counter, dressed in a very worn looking military jacket, camo pants and combat boots, cigarette in his mouth, listening to the Boss. The Boss. She noticed immediately that he had regained his war paint. In fact, it looked as though it had been applied with a heavier hand, as if to say "I'm back. Deal with it." His hair was a healthy shade of emerald. Under one arm she had tucked a blouse and in the opposite hand, she felt the fateful piece of paper pressed in her palm, fingers closed around it. It was an entirely different proposition approaching the Joker of Gotham with this news, rather than just Jack. She felt a dilemma. She hesitated.

"Look, Charlie." The Joker's tone was that nasal whine he took on when he was irritated. He pointed a long finger at the henchman. "Stand up straight when I'm talkin' to you."

Charlie sighed but abandoned his lean and stood up straight, looking vaguely humiliated that he was being spoken to as though he were an errant adolescent.

"That's better. Show a little respect when you're doing business. This is work. A job. You are an employeeeeeeee. Got that?"

Charlie nodded but Claire noticed the way his jaw flexed; a sign of anger under tight control.

"And get rid of the cigarette. Keep that shit outside."

Charlie looked the Joker in the eye for a moment. Just a moment. Not long enough to be interpreted as a challenge. Just a look. Like he wasn't sure he had heard him correctly. Then he walked to the kitchen door, opened it, and tossed the cigarette out into the courtyard. He closed the door firmly, but quietly and returned to stand by the table, arms crossed, waiting for his orders for the day.

"Sit down. Have some breakfast. Tell me what's happening today." The Joker sounded more congenial now, his point being made. "Schiffy? You have some eggs for Charlie here? He's likes them scrambled – like his brains." Then he broke into a fit of giggles at his own joke. Charlie just looked at him and sighed, pulling out a chair to sit down. It was going to be a long day. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment to collect his thoughts and ran a hand through his longish dark hair. As his gaze returned to the man across the table, he noticed Claire standing in the doorway, looking a little bit lost, uncertain about joining them.

The Joker followed his gaze and turned slightly to see her there. His face broke into a mile wide grin.

"Cumquat! Com'ere! I need a little sugar with my coffee."

Schiff beamed. He abandoned the eggs and let the toast watch itself as he hurried over to pull out the chair between the Joker and Charlie, tossing his long dark bangs out of his eyes and then tipping his gaze as though in reverence to her presence.

"P…p ... please. Have a seat. I'll put on some tea."

"Coffee is fine, Thomas." Claire finally moved into the room and took the seat offered as he pushed it in carefully, getting her settled, before returning to get some plates.

She looked at Charlie first who was regarding her with a look that was edgy. Not unfriendly. Just a little uneasy. She assumed this was due to the last time they sat at this table and she had produced her handgun in an unspoken, but completely understood, threat.

"Good morning, Charlie." She offered quietly. Her impression of this man so far was very mixed. The jury was still out. But he was in charge of the Joker's safety. That made her want to win him over. Gain his trust. She wanted to believe he took his job seriously. She placed the blouse that had been folded carefully, on the table and moved it toward him, locking eyes with him as she did.

"I spilled some candle wax on your wife's lovely blouse. I would have tried to clean it myself but it's pure silk. It needs a professional. Can you have it cleaned and I'll pay you back, of course."

Charlie reached over to accept the violet coloured blouse and noticed she had slipped her fingers under the garment carefully and offered a folded piece of paper between finger tips, wiggling it urgently. He looked at her again, unsure what was going on. She frowned back at him with urgency but kept her voice steady and calm. "If it can't be cleaned, let me know, and I'll be glad to replace it." She wiggled the folded note again and he glanced at the Joker who could not see what was happened from his angle. He pinched the note with his fingertips, and moved it to his jacket pocket under the table as he grasped the blouse with his other hand and laid it on his lap.

He could hear her sigh of relief and they looked at each other again. She nodded at him meaningfully and he gave a quick nod back. She sat back now, looking more relaxed.

"Charlie doesn't need your money, Honey Pot. He can afford to clothe that woman of his like Cleopatra with what I pay him."

"I hate ruining nice things. And it was borrowed." Claire said quietly, not looking at him directly. The paint still had an effect on her. But, there was nothing to be done about it. She would have to deal with the Joker for the moment.

Schiff appeared between them and dropped a plate of eggs in front of Charlie without ceremony and placed a bud vase with a single, what looked like some kind of weed, close to Claire's elbow. Charlie smirked as she blinked at it, unsure about the sentiment.

"He's wooing you." The Joker leaned in and spoke in a low tone. "I already explained to him that you worship at the Altar of Me but he can't help himself. Schiffy puts nearly every woman he meets on a pedestal – right where he can't touch her and she can look down on him forever."

His face was close to hers as he spoke and she noticed the faint chemical odor of the paint. Then she looked into the blackened sockets in stark contrast to the parchment white of his face and the haphazard slash of blood red covering his natural mouth and along the length of both scars. Jack was in there, somewhere. Yet, she couldn't help but stiffen a little in her chair, moving back slightly, disguising the motion as just adjusting her seat at the table.

"I think he's still a virgin. What'd you think, Charlie?"

"About that?" Charlie forked up some eggs and shook his head. "As little as possible."

Schiff arrived again with two mugs of coffee and a toasted English muffin with a pat of butter and some jam on the side. He placed that carefully in front of Claire, as though presenting a gift.

"Thank you, Thomas." She smiled up at him. "You take very good care of us."

"Not meeee!" The Joker gestured to the empty space on the table in front of him. "You'll notice, I still don't have any food."

"Coming right up." Schiff scurried back to the stove. "I'm … I'm making pancakes. Your fav… fav … favourite."

"Chocolate chips?"

"Yes."

"You're forgiven, Schiffy."

"Thanks, J."

Claire watched Charlie's face react to the familiar nickname, used so easily by Schiff. She watched the annoyance flash across his handsome features, brief but unmistakable. It didn't escape her that Charlie still called him "Boss". It brought to mind her conversation on the weekend with Jack about jealousy and the example she had given to him about Charlie's jealousy of Thomas Schiff.

Charlie decided to take the conversation back to business.

"I thought we could test the bazooka today. I found a spot about an hour out of the city where we can use it on some old cars, an abandoned tanker and a few small buildings no one will miss. The area is a clearing, surrounded by deep woods. By the time the explosions are reported, and they figure a way in, we'll be out."

"What make is it?" The Joker looked interested.

"RPG-7." Charlie took a bite of toast casually. "They can get away on you. You have to hold that pipe just right. They're heavy and the kick back is incredible."

"You fired one before?"

"Yup."

The Joker grinned, eyes glittering with excitement.

"I love my job. I get all the best toys. What are you doing today Claire Bear? Making more millions swapping yen for francs and francs for beans or whatever the hell it is you do?"

Claire put her hands on the table to have her muffin and in doing so, placed the now crumpled piece of paper with the temperature chart beside her plate. His quick eye saw it immediately and in a flash he had it in his hand. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

"What's this? A love note, my Sweet? You could have just told me later, in person. But I like getting mail." He teased as he smoothed it out to have a look.

She went silent and watched his expression as he took in what the graph was telling him. His face went from mild amusement to serious contemplation to a soberness that looked alien on his features.

"Is this real?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Charlie had stopped eating, sensing something important was taking place but completely in the dark as to what it might be. He looked from the Joker to Claire and back again.

"Charlie, you're dismissed." The Joker handed the paper back to Claire, nodding at her in a way that indicated she had his full attention.

"What?"

"You're dismissed for the day. No, **two **days. I don't want to see you until Wednesday."

Charlie frowned in confusion. "But, what … I mean … what's going on?"

"I've got other work to do. You have two days off. Go. Enjoy. You'll still get paid. We'll play with the bazooka on Wednesday."

"Is there a problem?" Charlie looked at Claire again who was staring at her muffin, looking preoccupied. "Can I help?"

"No!" Claire and the Joker answered in unison. And then they looked at each other and the Joker lost his seriousness completely and started to laugh. Claire closed her eyes, the colour rising in her cheeks. It took him a moment to regain his composure.

"Listen Pumpkin, you take your breakfast up to your room. I'll be up soon." He told her softly and she obeyed, taking her plate and mug carefully to leave him for now. She was momentarily relieved to have been able to give him the news, even with the paint on. She was anxious to see him again, without it. She really needed to see Jack right now.

"Schiffy, remember what I told you about the fourth floor?" The Joker stood up as Claire left the kitchen and Charlie was still sitting, just listening and trying to figure out this sudden change of plan.

"Yes. I … I … remember. It's Claire's p … p… private domain. She needs her privacy."

"Good. Good." Then he noticed Charlie still seated at the table. "What are you still doing here?"

"I'm going!" Charlie stood up and raised his hands in surrender.

"Go get laid or something, okay?"

"Okay!" Charlie tossed the crust from his toast on what was left of his eggs, scooped up the violet blouse and left the Boss to what was so important. It had something to do with her, that was certain. It did piss him off just a little that Schiff seemed to get it, was in on it, and he wasn't. Then he remembered the note she had passed to him along with the blouse.

Before he got in his truck, he checked the back to make sure his tool box was there. He had decided that his first free day would be spent over at Janice's apartment where he would take care of some repairs that the useless landlord should have taken care of long ago. He hated seeing her having to live amongst leaky taps, loose floor boards and cupboard doors falling off their hinges. He settled in behind the steering wheel and shook the blouse out to have a look. It looked perfect; no such candle wax or any other blemish. He reached deep into his pocket and retrieved the neatly folded note. He opened it and laid it against the steering wheel to read. Her handwriting was tiny, perfect and precise.

**Dear Charlie**,

**I wanted to apologize for the other morning. Our little stand-off in the kitchen. You can't deny that you were there with intent to harm. I was only protecting someone I care about - as I suspect you would protect your family if you felt they were in harm's way. It was nothing personal against you at all. I hope we can put that incident behind us. **

**I'm going away soon. Back to my life. You will be all he has to protect him. I know you will do your job well. You seem like a man of integrity. He thinks a lot of you. He told me. Don't ever doubt that you have his respect even though he can't bring himself to say it. **

**Charlie, I am asking a favour of you. I won't be in his world after Wednesday. I'll have no way of knowing if he is okay. You know where I live. I know you've been to my apartment. So you know where to reach me. My phone number is 929-292-5549. Please contact me if he is in any trouble whatsoever. My apartment is a safe haven for him if he ever needs it. I can also come to wherever he is if he needs me. **

**I would also like to say that if you are ever in need of a place to stay, to get out of harm's way, my door is open to you. My life is very simple and I have few friends so I am able to maintain a degree of privacy that makes my home a sanctuary of sorts. My wish is that you will consider me a friend. **

**You know that I knew him from before. Long ago. I failed him then. Everyone did. It would kill me to know I failed him again. I know that I have no right to ask but please help me with this. You are my link to him. You can trust me that I would never ever betray your confidence. He would never know that you contacted me. **

**Please take good care of him and of yourself.**

**Yours in friendship,**

**Claire Sanborne**

* * *

Claire treated herself to a shower as she awaited his arrival. She knew it would most likely be her last shower for the next forty-eight hours. He wouldn't allow it now that there was evidence she was fertile. He was fanatical about preserving any trace of semen. They were down to the wire now. Any sperm was especially precious now. The reality of what they were about to do was starting to dawn on her as she squeezed shampoo out of her hair and rinsed her whole body under the uneven spray from the vintage shower head. She felt a little light-headed as she stepped out of the shower stall onto a towel on the floor and wrapped another one around her. Even though they had been having sex regularly for the last while, this was different. She was at her most fertile point and there was evidence for it. The odds were still against it but if she were ever to become pregnant, the best chance was the next two days.

She walked out to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed as she patted herself dry and blotted the moisture from her long dark mane. She stopped for a moment and lay down on the bed, still wrapped in the towel as anxiety started to prevent her from proceeding with even this mundane chore. She lay in a fetal position as she pulled a pillow down over her head, trying to quell her nerves.

Jack would be here soon. She expected that he was off to his own quarters to remove Joker's paint, to join her at any moment, to begin their attempt in earnest.

She pictured him. Her Jack. Whatever fate had brought her here, it seemed pre-destined. His brilliance, his physicality, and their shared talent and passion for an ancient game of strategy; she couldn't think of a better biological father for the child she wanted so desperately. Maybe it was as he had suggested. Maybe she had sensed it all those years ago when he had made her the focus of his awakening sexuality. The timing had been cruelly off but the feeling that something so wrong could be so right might have been trying to tell her something.

She contemplated all the chaos that followed that fateful day, including her dark months in Arkham, the years of confusion and the anger that followed. She had served an even longer sentence with her period of servitude to a father who would never love her followed by a marriage built on lies and ending in humiliation and his untimely death. She realized now that she had been on auto pilot up to the point he had picked her up off the streets of Gotham and reintroduced her to their undeniable draw toward one another.

She knew there was not a single soul on earth who would ever condone how she felt about this man. To the world, he was some "thing" rather than some "one". Ask any Gothamite about the Joker and they would use words like "murderer", "psycho", "lunatic" or "monster". To her, he was simply - Jack.

If they could only see Jack, they might glimpse the humanity behind the creature called the Joker. What they would see was the fine handsome countenance that somehow had been torn up and scarred through no fault of his own. These were only the newest scars: the ones that littered his chest and his back, some of these were old. They pre-dated the Joker, even pre-dated her introduction to him. The round ones bothered her most; the ones that were the size of the tip of a glowing cigarette, most likely held in the hand of his father, seared into his flesh at God knew what age.

All the dark things that had happened to him, were uncharted. Nothing had been recorded or recalled that would account for what he had become. But that didn't mean his transformation wasn't justified, even if only to himself- that was enough for her. His justification, his reasoning, his "manifesto" – who was she to tell him he was wrong? Society, so-called civilization, had failed him, miserably. What society did not count on was that someone so gifted, so sensitive, and blessed with a mind that moved with strategic precision, would, as a result of the damage done to him, rise up and challenge every rule and code with his own Credo of Chaos. He was their own creation.

She glanced at the clock. The morning was slipping away quickly. She arose again and donned some comfortable clothing, a soft gray knitted dress, buttoned up the front. Her feet were left bare. She would have little use of footwear for the next two days. She finger combed her damp hair into a loose mane to let it dry as she applied her make-up lightly, in anticipation of the intimacy to follow. She wished she had some cologne or perfume to make herself as appealing as possible to him. Her stomach fluttered now more with anticipation than anxiety. She busied herself with tidying the bed and then set up the chess board for a game.

There was a soft knock on the door. She took a deep breath and glanced up from where she sat on the edge of the bed, behind the chess table, ready to greet him as the door opened. She looked forward to savouring his company as much as she could over the next forty-eight hours, before they had to part. But it wasn't Jack. It was the still the Joker.

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth entered the study at Wayne Manor with a late breakfast tray for Bruce who had been out late, tending to matters of high society, an activity he hated but tolerated in order to keep his parents' legacy of charity and community works alive. Bruce did not share his mother's social graces or his father's passion for meeting people. Bruce's only passion was the work he did by cover of night and in the person of the Bat.

The room was littered with papers and maps and books flipped over, open on their face at an important page, splayed out like dead bodies around the study. The topics were diverse; abnormal psychology, weaponry and anarchy in history. The latest dealing with the Joker, the Armory heist, had consumed almost every waking moment.

"Shall I be needed today Sir after two o'clock?" Alfred ventured the question as he made room among the debris on the desk beside the computer terminal where Bruce stared at newspaper articles about the heist, his hair a bird's nest, a result of sleepless tossing and turning, his eyes reddened from staring at text in one form or another as he tried to wrap his brain around the fact that the Joker had vanished again, without a trace.

"Hmmmm? What? Oh! No. Go ahead. I'm fine here, Alfred. Maybe just put another pot of coffee on if you don't mind."

"Not at all, Sir." He stood up and looked down at the tussled dark hair of the man who was still so much like the boy. Three decades ago, he would have felt comfortable laying a hand to that head to straighten the dark locks into some semblance of order. "If you don't mind me asking, Sir, are you making any progress in the matter of the Joker?"

"None whatsoever." Bruce sat back in his high back office chair and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "I keep reading about this Janice Minsky. The young private at the Armory. The one who disappeared as a hostage and didn't show up until morning but remembers nothing about the man, or men, who held her, presumably, for the night. I keep finding that odd."

"Amnesia." Alfred repeated the word he had read about the incident. "Stress induced memory loss."

"Or …" Bruce looked up at him. "Selective and deliberate memory loss."

"Do you think she was threatened into saying she forgot?"

"Possibly."

"If it is PTSD as they are claiming," Alfred poured the coffee. "then it would be cruel to subject her to constant questioning."

"And if she's holding back, Alfred?"

"Well, Sir. There are some things we may never know."

"Maybe, maybe." Bruce picked up a piece of toast. "And maybe she just needs to be questioned by someone other than the usual authorities. Maybe she would open up and start to "remember" outside of a patrol car or Gordon's cold interrogation rooms."

Alfred watched him, deep in thought, and decided it was a good time to bring up a delicate subject.

"Sir, I hope you don't mind if I remind you that Ms. Dawes has been calling for several days now."

"I'll call, Alfred, when I 'm ready." Bruce said gloomily as he brought up the Gotham Times photo of Private, First Class Janice Minsky. "It's complicated." He studied her face in the photograph. She was a pretty young woman with an open, pleasant look about her despite the no smile allowed standard military issue picture. The article had said that she had lost her fiance in Iraq only six months earlier, to an IED. The girl had certainly had her share of bad luck lately. Maybe they were right about stress-induced amnesia. The human mind could only take so much before it began a campaign of protecting itself from harm. Sometimes the only protection was forgetting.

He had caught a glimpse of her that day, during the chase that took place on the parade ground between himself and the Joker. He had seen her seated in the truck, looking dishevelled yet oddly composed. She was next to the masked henchmen who had been the driver that day. And there were others in the back of the truck. It was indeed a mystery as to who they were and what they had done with Private Minsky from the time they left the Armory to when she showed up at her apartment the next morning, sleepless and without any details about anything aside from the Joker's role in the whole fiasco. She remembered every tiny detail of everything the Joker did or said or even implied but about the men or man who detained her the evening and night before – about the person or persons of interest who could be a lead to the whereabouts of the Joker - it had all evaporated.

It was a mystery. Bruce hated mysteries.

"Do you think she may have been … abused, Sir?"

"She says not. She refused a physical examination. Gordon says that her demeanor was just short of defiant." Bruce dunked a corner of his toast into his black coffee in an absent-minded fashion. "Maybe she was telling the truth. But then logic says that if she knows she was not abused, she should know other things."

"Indeed, Sir. It is a riddle." Alfred nodded at him, just as much at a loss. "At the risk of repeating myself, Sir, there are some things that …."

"….that we may never know." Bruce frowned and bit off a piece of soggy toast – just the way he liked it. "I wish I could accept that, Alfred."

* * *

The Joker entered the room, seemingly oblivious to the shock that had registered on Claire's tired features. The window in the room was still partially boarded so the light was dim and the lava lamp was on, casting an eerie shadow through the room. He sidled over to the chair across from her and the chess board and inquired pleasantly.

"Are we to have a game before we get down to business, hmmmm?" He tilted his head toward her suggestively and the colour drained from her face. He couldn't muffle the chuckle that escaped his scarlet lips – not that he tried that hard. Her confusion was comical. He gave her a moment to recover from her surprise as he settled into the chair and pulled off his purple gloves, finger by finger, like a concert pianist getting ready to give a recital.

"What?" She managed. "Who? I mean … I thought…"

"You were expecting someone else?" His mirth registered in the twinkle in the khol-ringed eyes.

"You know I was." She seemed to have regained her composure now and was ready to dispute his intentions. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Didn't you ask Jack how you could make amends to me?" He cocked his head sideways, challenging her, playfully.

"You **are** Jack."

"Then what's the problem?" He asked quickly, dryly, as though putting an end to the discussion. He pointed to the board. "You have the first move Sugar Buns and don't dally. Daddy's very anxious to accept your amends."

There was a pause while she stared at him, giving him her most defiant look but he just ignored her while he studied his fingernails. Then she thought it might be good to participate in a game. It would give her time to consider what to do about this unfortunate situation. She moved a pawn forward two spaces and she had barely pulled her hand back when he stood up, bent down, swiped his forearm across the board, sweeping all the pieces but her King onto the floor with a clatter. He bent down, pawed through the pieces until he found his black queen. He placed it two spaces on a diagonal from her white King.

She gaped at him like he was out of his mind as he gleefully gestured at the two pieces on the board.

"Check and mate." He announced victoriously. "And speaking of 'mate' – let's fuck."

"Charming."

"Well, I didn't have time to send flowers." He just grinned down at her from his standing position, enjoying her dilemma.

Claire avoided his gaze for the moment and bit her lip in consternation. Why was he doing this to her when he knew how frightened she still was of this persona of his. Why push it – why insist? She thought back to their last intimate encounter and how upset he had gotten, nearly suffocating her as he tried to stop her looking at him. And afterwards, his speech about shutting the Joker out in the cold. She had sensed that her affection, the love she expressed toward him, had been too much for Jack to process. Afterward, she had felt a wall go up. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he was feeling stressed by the depth of her emotions toward him. He needed to protect himself. Was this a test? Did he want proof that she could love him even as the Joker?

She picked up her white king and slowly turned it in her fingertips as she finally looked at him.

"Are you here Jack?"

"Right here, baby." He sat back down on his chair and leaned forward a little, licking his crimson lips slowly, his eyes watching hers as though trying to read her thoughts. "Claire, this is important." He picked up the black queen and studied it carefully. "You don't understand how important."

His use of her actual name got her attention. She put the white king back on the board and smoothed the bed linen out beside her with a delicate hand. She didn't look at him. He waited.

"I don't think I can kiss you."

"Don't have to kiss to get the job done." He agreed quickly but added. "But you know how much we both enjoy that."

"No kissing." She swallowed hard. "And where is your knife?"

"No kissing on the mouth." He confirmed in a tone that was less than enthusiastic but added. "But I can still put my mouth on you. Other places."

"The knife?"

"In my vest. It will be under the pillow as usual. I'm not any more likely to start carving than I would without the paint, you know. It's just paint."

Without saying a word, she stood up, moved the chess table away from the bed and scooped up all the pieces on the floor, setting them back in their places on the board while he sat back in the hard backed chair and watched, humming a little tune to himself. Then she slid onto the bed, lay back on the pillows, legs together primly, her arms bent up beside her head submissively. She looked at him, watching his smile widen as he stood up and walked slowly over to the night table, his shoes scraping on the dusty floorboards.

He slipped off the purple overcoat, leaving him still fully clothed in his shirt, tie green vest and purple pinstriped pants. He pulled his watch and chain, the one he had named Sonny Boy, from his pocket and laid it carefully on the side table. Next, he unbuttoned his vest and slipped off his tie. He glanced at her, watching, his eyes crinkled up with mirth. Rolling his shirt sleeves up as if readying himself for hard work, he kicked off his shoes and then put one knee on the bed beside her.

He reached up into the back lining of his vest where he retrieved his knife, his Cupid, and offered it to her for confiscation.

She took it carefully, avoiding the button that released the razor sharp blade, checked the safety, and then pushed it carefully under the pillow he would be using. She turned onto her side to look up at him, expectantly.

"Well, since you don't want to kiss me, you can turn over and face away from me to get started." He gave instructions and motioned with his hand for her to turn away.

She said nothing and obeyed, turning onto her side, facing away as he lay down behind her, moving one arm under her and another around the front as he took her into an embrace, his nose moving into her hair, taking in her scent.

The soft snuffling sensation in her hair, his odd habit of hair sniffing, tickled and it made her shiver. She could feel the warmth and weight of his body against hers from behind and his hands were wasting no time undoing the buttons on the front of her grey sweater dress.

"You cold baby?" His voice was right in her ear, teasing, low, and completely Jack's.

"No."

"You're shivering." He passed one large warm hand into her dress, under her bra, cupping her full breast greedily, fingertip finding the nipple and plying it with attention. "This is gonna be so good. Just relax. Enjoy."

He began to nuzzle her behind the ear as his other hand moved down her body, caressing her curves with appreciation, pulling her in against him tightly with a soft moan. "Can you get rid of these clothes?"

She sat up, still facing away as she slipped the dress down off her shoulders and shimmied out of it, tossing it to the chair by the bed. He undid her bra for her and she tossed that as well, left only in a very brief pair of white lace panties. He urged her to resume her position in his backwards embrace. She complied as his hands began to roam all over now, one slipped into the front of her panties, fingers exploring her most intimate place. She began to shift her hips and press backwards against him, her deep sigh expressing her pleasure.

"Well, that didn't take long." He giggled softly against her hotly flushed cheek, referring to the wetness he found in his exploration between her legs. "You can't find me **that **repulsive."

"Shhhh…" She raised a hand behind her to touch his face. "You are **not** repulsive." She turned her head to look at him and their gaze locked. She turned her whole body towards him, and he pulled her hips in close against him, where she could feel his arousal pressed against her bare tummy. But he was still fully clothed.

They were face to face, his hand caressed the small of her back, urging her against him for the friction he was craving. Then he reached down to grip both cheeks of her full bottom as she pressed her hands against his chest. It felt strange to her to be nearly nude against all his rough clothing. She lifted her top leg over his hip to achieve maximum contact with the part of him her body was demanding. She reached into his vest to grip both suspenders.

"Aren't you going to undress?" Her voice was a little ragged and breathless.

"No." He moved his mouth close to hers to test how close he could get. "I prefer to remain this way. But those panties gotta go." He hooked a thumb into the side of the lace and gave a little tug.

"But if you don't undress ... how?"

He moved his mouth even closer to hers and they made eye contact.

"That's what zippers are for."

"Oh …" Her eyes were trained on his mouth now and she contemplated her request to refrain from kissing. Regret fought with her natural stubbornness. This was Jack. She loved kissing him. But, stupidly, she had set limits for the Joker. This close, adorned in the dark crimson paint, that tiny scar that creased his bottom lip, the one that fascinated her so, looked much more delicious than she had anticipated. And his nut brown eyes, lost in their dark orbits were seductive as hell. He bit his bottom lip as though on purpose, to entice. Her mouth watered as her body surrendered to pure physical need.

'Go for it."

"What?"

"My zipper. Go for it. I love your hands on me."

She just kept staring at his mouth as her hand slid down his body to undo the button on his trousers and she took the zipper pull between her fingers. She looked up into his eyes and he moved his mouth in now so close that she could feel his hot breath against her own. He was tormenting her.

"What's wrong?" He teased and licked his lips slowly. "You seem torn my Sweet."

Her hand left the zipper for the moment and she put both hands up into the slightly stringy curls, a patchy mixture of dark blonde and grassy green. She brushed the locks away from his high forehead with her fingertips, gentle as a whisper as she studied his eyes. But as she moved her mouth up towards his, he pulled back slightly before she made contact and gave a low giggle of pleasure in his chest. It sounded like victory. The glare she gave him for making her work for it only made him giggle more.

"I thought the kissing thing was out." He came in close again, challenging her.

"It might feel good." She looked down, dejected, pouting, for full effect. This was a game.

"Oh it might feel good, hmmmmm?" He brought a hand under her chin to make her look at him. "Shoulda thought of that before you took it off the menu." His nose was touching hers.

"I guess so." She admitted softly as her fingers traced the shape of his ear.

"You hurt my feelings." He teased.

"You don't have any feelings." She teased back.

"I want you to ask."

She gave a groan that made him erupt in laughter again and she had to smirk at her predicament. Still, he was so much fun.

"Now, what do you want?" He spoke to her like she was a child.

"I want a kiss."

"Manners?"

"I want a kiss … please."

"Nah."

She opened her mouth in surprise and gave him a playful shove against his chest as he giggled with glee.

"You little brat."

She smiled at him despite her words and moved closer to rub her nose against his softly, looking into his eyes deeply. He went very still with anticipation. They both moved forward at once and their mouths met in a long, hungry, open-mouthed kiss that broke and then deepened until they finally pulled away, breathless with the way it super-charged their lust for each other.

She could taste the odd flavor of the paint that he shared with her during the kiss. She went in for more. He was right, as usual. It was just paint.


	33. Chapter 33 Jack's Back

_**Author's Note – Sorry for such a dry spell. Thanks to everyone who might still be reading this and takes the time to comment. I'll do my best to get the next installment up in the next week to make up for lost time. **_

The Endgame

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Jack's Back"

Claire moved between sleep and wakefulness, vaguely aware that morning had arrived again. She shifted slightly in the bed, pulling the covers up to her nose as the autumn chill won the fight with the tenement's antique heating system.

She was naked beneath the bedclothes, still adorned just about everywhere with traces of his war paint that were stubborn to the ordinary soap and water she used to tidy up with at the sink since a shower was off limits for now. She should have dressed again after their last encounter, before falling asleep for the few hours he allowed her. Now, it was too cold and drafty to contemplate leaving the warmth of their messy nest of a bed to get dressed. Besides, she was deep in thought, going over the events of yesterday, last night, and the wee hours of this morning; her time in the Joker's intimate company. She couldn't keep from smiling as she thought about their time together.

As soon as she had broken the barrier of the paint, she had surrendered herself to him over and over again with small breaks for enthusiastic games of chess punctuated by good-natured arguments over his style of play versus her style and her accusation that he must be cheating in some clandestine manner in order to win every damn time.

The playfulness had extended to the sex as well. He seduced and then demurred, teasing and taunting her until she abandoned her pride and just jumped on him. He found this hilarious for some reason and it made for very animated sex. She found herself engaging in a mild sort of fisticuffs as he pretended to fight her off. His agility and physical prowess always won out in the end as he pinned her to the bed or the wall or the floor while he made her beg out loud for his sexual attention. When he finally did "surrender", it was electrifying. She just let herself get swept along in all the wonderful ways he could come up with to explore each other's bodies and elicit pleasure so intense she could hardly stand it while holding onto her fragile sense of dignity.

At one point in their last encounter, she held him, actually cradled him as he came down from a particularly violent orgasm; he seemed absolutely lost in the moment, disoriented and shaken. As she stroked his hair and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, muttering soothing words, the depth of her passion at the moment shocked her. Being analytical at heart, after some wondering, it occurred to her that it was this man's least admirable traits that made him so attractive at that moment. Arguably, the most powerful and feared man in Gotham was lying helpless in her arms. She admitted to herself that it was a feeling of enormous power that she could undo such a creature and sooth him. It was a heady sensation that she had not experienced with just Jack. With Jack, it was only love.

He had eventually shed all of his clothing but because it was chilly, he had wrapped himself in a green blanket, wearing it like a toga while they played chess and when they took a break to watch a movie together on a small DVD player's screen, hunched together on the bed with it on his lap. It was an old black and white gangster jailhouse flick called "White Heat". He seemed to delight in the main character's mother fixation and obvious-to-a –hilarious degree, insanity, following along with the dialogue word for word, with enthusiasm. She had more fun watching him watching the film, than watching the film, itself.

Considering that in the beginning she had felt that any such intimate contact with the Joker would have to be at best, merely tolerated, it was amazing that in the end, it was a deeply pleasurable and satisfying, if slightly chaotic, experience. Despite the unconventional delivery, the objective had been accomplished; he had sown a multitude of very wild oats in their numerous encounters in the last eighteen hours. If she did end up pregnant, he was a very likely candidate for father.

She wondered if this fact was at least part of the reason for Jack's insistence that she frolic with the Joker. The Joker was not just an alter-ego. Jack had some emotional investment in the Painted One that would not allow him to be left out of their attempt at procreation. She was coming around to a better understanding of this dynamic. He would not allow a vital part of himself to be kept in the shadows in order to make it easier for her. There was a weird kind of integrity about this that made her glad that she had taken the plunge with the Joker. Yet, when she explored her feelings of love, she thought only of Jack. She would always want Jack ahead of the Joker.

It was hard to tell if the sun was all the way up because it was a typically overcast Gotham morning, made of solemn silvery light. She raked her fingers through her hair to tame her dark mane into some semblance of order before venturing out into the cold rooms to don some clothing. There was a soft knock on the door and she sat up, clutching the bedclothes to her for modesty as well as warmth. He strode into the room, carrying a tray with breakfast items. She beamed.

"Good morning, Jack."

"Hey, Baby."

"It's freezing in this place. I'm going to register a complaint with the landlord."

"That would be meeeeee." He was devoid of any trace of Joker, hair clean, blonde, a mass of haphazard corkscrew curls. He was wearing her favourite brown corduroy suit with the paisley shirt, green vest. He flashed a grin as he set the tray down on the table near the bed and then sat down on the edge of the mattress. He reached out with fingertips and touched some traces of red and white war paint on her bare shoulder and her cheek. "That bastard really had his way with you, huh?" Despite his words, his eyes gave away his pleasure at the thought.

Claire just smiled at him suspiciously, not sure she wanted to play along with this ploy of talking about the Joker in the third person. She said nothing but lowered her eyes as she realized, with some confusion, that she was feeling a tinge of embarrassment at the remembrance of her raucous behavior the hours before, now that Jack was here – and he knew - everything.

He reached out and caught her chin, lifting her gaze to his. She met his nut brown eyes and it was clear he was having difficulty containing his amusement.

"Was it really **awful**, hmmmm?" He narrowed his eyes and shook his shoulders dramatically as though feeling her terrible ordeal for her.

"Stop." She said softly and broke eye contact, looking anywhere but right at him.

"I would have done anything to spare you." He went on, in dramatic tones, as soberly as he could manage on the edge of laughter. "But you know him. He would have his way. He's a brute like that."

They gazed at each other for a moment as the ridiculousness of the whole situation dawned on them both at once. She broke first with a shriek of crazy laughter joined quickly by high-pitched giggling from him. The mirth overtook her completely and he watched her fall back into the pillows, hands over her eyes as she just let it flow out of her in waves, gulping for air between the peals of slightly unhinged laughter that he loved to hear from her. He lay down beside her, holding his stomach as they just let it all out – a hilarious reaction to the utterly bizarre situation of a third party in their relationship that was only between two people.

It took a while for them to exhaust themselves of the hilarity but eventually, they became quiet again and she sighed deeply and turned to look at him beside her.

"I'm glad you're back." Her eyes were shiny and moist from laughing.

He just grinned and reached over and pulled a long tendril of her brunette mane.

Then she bit her lip and admitted quietly.

"He's a lot of fun. But, I prefer things be a bit more conventional going forward."

"Conventional – with you – is more than enough excitement for me."

He said it so sweetly; she actually felt a little catch in her chest. Then she reminded herself that he always knew exactly what to say. It was his gift. No need to get carried away with any delusions of actual tenderness from him.

She looked away and stared at the ceiling, trying to understand how this could ever be enough for her. But it was. It would have to be. It was all he could offer...anyone. It wasn't his fault.

"Can I shower?" She asked sweetly.

"No."

She moaned with dissatisfaction.

"I feel all sticky – in my nether regions."

"I brought some oil. It's on the tray. You can use that to get rid of the paint. The sink is fine for washing up. Just don't get carried away. Especially the _nether regions._" He mimicked her accent on the last sentence, making fun of her polite terms for sexy places.

"Well, you're very bossy." She admonished him gently.

"Hmmmmm ...you like it." He nodded knowingly.

She gave him an offended look and opened her mouth to protest but he just tilted his head at her in his confident way and gave her a look that made her hold her tongue.

She sighed deeply in defeat. He was watching her carefully, as though he was getting ready to say something important. She shifted over on her side to survey him more seriously.

"What?" She inquired as she traced his eyebrow with a gentle fingertip, smiling at him, poking one bare foot out from her sheets to rub up and down his pant leg. He, in turn, grasped her hand and turned it over to where her deep star-shaped scar obliterated her delicate wrist. He held her hand as he traced the scar with a light fingertip, as though he was memorizing its shape. Then he leaned in and kissed it softly before letting go of her hand. Claire brushed her scarred wrist against the side of her face gently, watching him with interest.

"You're in a funny mood." She said softly, affectionately. "What's up?"

"Claire, you know that I'm fond of you, right?"

She felt her breath suspended for a few seconds as she concentrated, unsure of whether she had heard him correctly, but he continued.

"There is no one else that I'm more fond of. I mean, you get on my nerves sometimes." He wrinkled his nose up comically and continued. "But all in all, most of the time, I just really enjoy your company. I think it's because you're smart. And beautiful. I just want you to know that."

She watched his features for any sign of a punch line to come; a joke to be revealed with a goofy grin or a rakish wink or something. He was calm and serious.

There was silence for a moment as she found herself disoriented with disbelief. From him, such a declaration was momentous.

"Well." He punctured the silence as he arose from the bed, straightening his vest and pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. "You tidy up and have breakfast. I'll be back in about an hour. I have some things to do with Schiffy. He's having shit fits this morning because he's convinced his landlady is stalking him. There's no vacation for crazy. Okay? Sugar Buns?"

She was still recovering from the shock of his declaration of 'like'.

"Ms. Sanborne?"

"Oh! Yes. An hour." She shook her head as she hugged a pillow, glancing at him furtively.

"It's our last day." He reminded her. "Have to make the most of it, right?"

"We do." She shook her head in agreement and then buried her face in the pillow, mumbling something to herself quietly.

"What?" He stole a piece of toast from the plate of sausage and eggs. He took a bite. "Speak up, Cumquat. Share with the rest of the class." He gestured to the empty room.

She looked up at him and hesitated a moment before repeating.

"I said - I wish it wasn't our last day."

* * *

Charlie and Janice were headed out of town for the day. Yesterday had been productive as he had spent the entire day making repairs around her small apartment, from replacing tile in the shower and fixing leaks to mending the loose floorboards in the hallway and bedroom. He had replaced some missing hinges on the cupboard doors so they all swung and shut with perfect precision. While he busied himself with the repairs, Janice had kept herself occupied in her bedroom, sewing, and humming to herself with contentment.

At one point, Charlie had stopped to take in his surroundings with all his senses; the steady purr of her vintage sewing machine, the soft, sweet sound of her voice humming tunes that drifted up the hallway to where he worked in the bathroom, the aroma of lunch in the oven, the feel of old wooden planks yielding to his hands and tools, plus the sweet satisfaction that he got from mending things – one of the best feelings in the world for him. He realized that this mundane world was just a clever disguise - for paradise. It was so far-removed from his chaotic, drama-filled world with Cha Cha that it made him chuckle to himself with surprise. He had forgotten how nice it could be to just be in the presence of someone who made him happy. They didn't even have sex.

After a delicious lunch of grilled ham and cheese and ice cold beer, he had insisted that she show him some of her old photograph albums. There were photos of her father, and mother and step-father, all dead now, along with some childhood pictures of her oft-mentioned cousin, Pam, the one who looked so much like her. It was true. Despite Pam being a year older, they were almost dead ringers. He got his first look at Michael, her deceased fiancé. He was one of those guys who were handsome in an even-featured sort of way. Charlie felt a twinge when he looked at photos of Michael and Janice together, in happier times, barely out of high school; he wasn't able to identify what he felt. It could be jealousy or guilt or maybe something else. But, page after page of photos of them at the beach, beside a Christmas tree, dressed up for Halloween – it made him uneasy. She didn't get overly emotional conjuring all these ghosts on a Monday afternoon. She laughed out loud many times as she introduced him to her past and he got the feeling she was pleased to share this with him.

Then there was the photo that burned itself into his brain. The one of her, aged four years, at her father's funeral. She was tiny, elfin almost. Her copper hair was done in two braids, one very crooked. She looked up at the photographer from under her thick bangs with a look of distress; her eyes, a heart-breaking tale of bewilderment and fear. She was dressed in a short plaid dress, her stockings falling down, as though no one had had the time or focus to find her ones that fit. A weary looking teddy bear was clutched in one hand, his foot dragging on the ground.

"What was your bear's name?"

"Hap. Short for Happy."

"Still have him?"

"No, I put him in the coffin with my Daddy. I didn't want him going to wherever he was going all alone. When they closed the lid, I got hysterical."

The thought of that scared, bereaved little girl, hardly more than a toddler, giving her stuffed friend to her dead father to keep him company, made Charlie swallow hard. He was beginning to understand the woman he was involved with. It was dawning on him how deep she ran; how loving was as natural to her as breathing.

Before he realized the time, he had to leave because he wanted to surprise Leo; to pick him up after his school day and spare him the dreary school bus ride home. The kid had been way too quiet the last day or so and he wanted to have some private time with him in case there was something he needed to talk about. But the ride home had been nearly silent. Whatever was bothering him, Leo wasn't sharing.

Back in the present, Janice watched the world fly by as they drove north, to the cabin. She was looking forward to yet more time with this enigmatic man and being in that quiet, green place so far from all the grimy din and despair of Gotham.

"How come the Joker gave you two whole days off? Reward for work well done?" She asked lightly, moving her long loose tresses behind her shoulders with a practiced sweep of her hand.

"I have no idea." Charlie turned down the music for the moment, to talk. "It has something to do with his woman. It seems like they had something they had to work on that was more important."

"Some time off is nice though, right?" She looked over at him as he watched the road with the intensity with which he did most things.

He looked over at her and smirked, the dimple in his left cheek on display.

"Are you kidding? I get to hang out with you. What's not to like?"

She beamed at him. His chest got a little tighter. He was seeing the photograph again, clearly, in his mind. The little girl at her daddy's funeral. He felt again the overwhelming urge to reach into that picture and sweep her up into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, that he would never let anything bad happen to her again. That little girl was right here; all grown up into this ultra feminine, wisp of a young woman with eyes the colour of good whiskey and hair the shade of new pennies.

He wondered if they could drive all the way to the cabin or if he would have to pull the truck off the highway and find a place private enough. He needed her more right now than he had ever needed any woman. With every minute he spent with her, she grew more important to him. The speed that this was happening was really kind of dizzying. Everything practical and logical told him this could go nowhere. At the same time, however, he knew that this graceful tomboy was the best thing that had ever happened to him and he was ready to rearrange the stars if it meant he could always be on the receiving end of that open, trusting smile.

* * *

Claire was in the kitchen making some lunch for the three of them because Schiffy was falling apart from some sort of paranoia that had gripped him out of the blue. He was sure, absolutely positive that his landlady was not only following him but that she had somehow entered his mind with a control beam and was saying horrible things to him in his head. She was calling him names that he couldn't share, as they were too upsetting to utter outside his head. The Joker had spent most of the morning trying to break his paranoia and he was losing patience.

Thomas was sitting at the kitchen table, exhausted from a sleepless night, his head wrapped haphazardly in tin foil (the Joker's idea), eyes closed, mumbling in answer to the landlady's taunts but his words were lost in the sobbing that had taken over.

The Joker sat as far away from him as he could. He wouldn't even be in the kitchen if he could help it. But he was hungry and he didn't want to leave Claire alone with the paranoid basket case that Schiffy had become over night. He wondered at Claire's lack of apprehension. All he could sense coming from her was concern for their housemate.

"Thomas?"' She said quietly from the stove where she was boiling some pasta, "She can't really speak to you. You have to believe us. She can't reach you that way. Please try and listen to me and not to her."

"Damn it!" Schiffy stomped his feet and pressed his hands against his foil headdress and banged his head against the table so hard that The Joker winced, went to reach out, but then pulled his hand back quickly. He frowned and blew out a huff of frustration. He hated not being in control. And crazy was beyond anyone's control.

"Now she's saying things about Claire." Thomas moaned in complete despair.

"What did she say about her?" The Joker leaned in with a renewed interest in the poor man's torture. Claire shot him a look of disapproval. He just shrugged.

She stopped stirring the pot and lifted it off the burner, turning the stove off as the Joker continued his efforts to bring his friend back from delusion.

"Schiffy – please snap the fuck out of it. It's really spoiling my day."

Claire frowned at his lack of finesse. He shrugged his shoulders again and protested the unfairness of it all.

"It's true. He's ruining our day. I haven't got time to deal with this. Maybe I should just drop him off at Arkham and we can get on with our agenda."

Schiffy moaned again and the Joker slapped the table.

"That's it! I think I should just put him outside. Maybe the fresh air'll snap him out of it. I'll lock the door and we can have some peace and quiet. Think?"

"No!" She took a deep breath and let it out while she gave him a look that could curdle milk. "What happened to the friendship? What happened to good ol' Schiffy?"

"He's nuts. Plain as day. I can't deal with him when he's like this, Cumquat. It's not mean. I just have my limits. Let's put him outside."

Claire rolled her eyes to the ceiling, searching for patience and then she declared in a loud, confident tone.

"Okay, There's only one thing to do. I need to call in a favour. I need to borrow that phone."

He squinted at her sudden change of tone to one of a person taking charge and looked at her like she was joining Schiffy in his delusion.

"You know I don't like using cells."

"But you still have it?"

"In the drawer, yeah. For emergencies but…."

"I think it's safe to say this is an emergency." Claire told him in the same, loud, almost theatrical tone. Then she gave him a wink and mouthed. "Just play along."

His expression turned to one of intrigue. He got up and walked a large circle around Schiffy to reach the drawer at the end of the counter. Opening the drawer, he picked up the cell phone, pulled off the back, inserted the battery, closed the back and handed it to her.

"Make it short."

"I will." She assured him. She pushed a few buttons as though she was actually calling someone but never pushed 'talk'. "It's okay Thomas. We'll have this sorted in a few minutes. I promise."

Schiffy turned his head where it lay on the table as he finally looked at her. She had gotten his attention yet the whimpering continued and he closed his eyes against the evil voice of his landlady echoing in his fragile brain.

Claire nodded at the Joker like she had everything under control and he watched her, completely enthralled. What the hell was she doing?

"Oh right." Claire spoke loudly and with efficiency, her natural Brit accent taking on an even crispier tone, trying to draw Thomas' interest to what she said to the non-existent party on the other end of the line. "Hello. Is this the Federal Bureau of Investigation? Yes? I'd like to speak to Gary P. Manning. He is the agent in control of mind lines for the city of Gotham. Yes. Now. Tell him it's Claire Sanborne calling and I'm sure he will pick up. Yes, I'll wait."

The Joker took a deep breath and held it as he fought the laughter that threatened to erupt at any moment. He was fairly sure that Gary P. Manning was her dead ex-husband's name. He looked at her with amazement and said quietly for only her to hear.

"Mind lines?"

"Stop." She whispered to him. "Just let me try."

He put up his hands in surrender.

"Knock yourself out, Babe."

"Yes? Gary?" Claire resumed her charade with gusto and winked at Schiffy who surveyed her with eyes so woeful; it would have been comical under other circumstances. "This is Claire Sanborne. Yes, I'm fine, thanks. Look, I need that favour. Yes? Well, you did say anytime I needed one. Well, there's this dear friend of mine. Thomas Schiff. His landlady has somehow tapped into his mind line and she's speaking to him, saying quite awful things. Yes, it's very intrusive and upsetting for him. Could you do a trace and turn off the transmission? You know, sever the connection?" She paused as though she was listening intently, taking in important information.

"Her name?" She continued and coaxed Thomas. "Thomas, what's her name, please?"

"C-c-c … Caroline." He began slowly and the Joker leaned on the counter watching him with interest.

"Last name, Thomas?" Claire nodded gently, encouraging him.

"P-p-p … Panabaker." Thomas got it out and both the Joker and Claire heaved a sigh of relief.

"Wonderful." Claire praised him and then repeated the name to the party on the other end of the line, pretending to listen again for a moment before responding.

" Yes, that's simpler than I thought. 12:10 exactly you say? Yes. I'm looking at the kitchen clock. Two minutes to go. We're all set. Just stay on the line."

She looked at the Joker who was in complete awe at the moment, waiting to see what she was going to do next.

"Look Darling. Can you get Thomas over near the window? Gary is triangulating the transmissions to tap into the landlady's mind line so he can shut it off and reprogram the coordinates in a random manner so that she never has access to Thomas' mind again. All we need to do is get him by the window and at exactly 12:10, we dial "777". That will take care of it."

"Well sure – why didn't I think of that?" The Joker blinked at her in disbelief.

"Com'on now, Thomas." She looked at the Joker and frowned with determination. "Please help him."

He walked over to the table and pulled the foil bonnet off Schiffy's head and slapped him on the back firmly to get his attention.

"You heard the lady, Schiffy. Let's stand by the window. We're going to shut down C-c-c-Caroline P-p-p-Panabaker so we can all have some p-p-p-peace."

Thomas shuffled along beside the much taller man and nearly collapsed once but the Joker caught him around the waist in a bear hug and literally picked him up and set him on his feet in front of the murky kitchen window. He placed Schiffy's shaking hands on the edge of the countertop for support and then nodded at Claire.

"Tell _Gary_ we're ready. One minute to go." He nodded at the clock and rolled his eyes, indulging her.

Claire moved to Schiffy's side but he kept his head down, his long dark locks obscuring a face that was tortured by the relentless hostile voice in his brain. She lifted the cell phone to the window and looked at the Joker on Thomas' other side.

"Tell me when."

He shook his head in a positive way but mouthed. "This won't work."

"Count down." Claire said loudly. "Thomas get ready." She glared at the Joker and nodded at him sternly to get with the program.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven…." He sighed and continued, looking at the ceiling. "Six, five, four, three, two, one, go."

Claire held the phone up to the window and pressed the numbers, calling them out loud as she did. "Seven, seven, seven." Then she put the phone back to her ear. "Gary? What are you seeing on your end? Really? That's perfect. Thanks so much."

She pretended to end the call. There was silence, aside from the sound of the Joker's shoe tapping on the kitchen floor impatiently, as she put the phone on the countertop and bent down to look at Thomas. She spoke softly as though she were speaking to a child.

"She's gone, Thomas. It's over. You have your mind back and all of your privacy. She'll never go in there again. She can't. "

Thomas stood up slowly from his slouch over the counter and tossed his hair out of his red-rimmed eyes.

"It's quiet." He said in a wondrous tone. "She's g-g-gone." Then he looked at her and sort of flinched a smile. "Thank you."

The Joker looked quickly between the two of them and blinked in amazement. Claire smiled back, triumphantly.

"I want to hug you Thomas but I know you don't like that."

"Oh, no. P…p…please don't." He was fully back in the present. "It's nothing personal. I…I…I just can't …" He sounded so relieved but exhausted.

"It's okay." Claire said softly, reassuringly. "But Gary said that you might want to have a hot bath and a good sleep now. It will help your mind recover from the trauma. Make it stronger and help you forget the awful things you heard. Yes?"

Joker grabbed Schiffy by the shoulders to lead him to his bathroom and leaned over to speak to Claire quietly as she reached for the cell phone and took the back off to remove the battery.

"How was it speaking to ol' Gary anyway? I didn't know he was with the FBI."

"Well" she smiled with relief now that Thomas looked more like his less-crazier self. "It turns out he was good for something, after all."

* * *

The rest of their drive was not big on conversation. They listened to a new Muse CD she had brought along. Janice had laid her head against his shoulder, sitting very close, with her arm resting along his right thigh, brushing her fingertips in a soothing way against his knee. A few times he could feel her nuzzling his shoulder and he turned, trying to keep his eyes on the road and kissed her lightly. She gave him a dreamy look, a look that he was sure he was reflecting back at her. The arrival at the cabin could not come soon enough.

Rain was starting to splatter against the windshield as he pulled the truck up to the front walk. He wasted no time jumping out of his side and running around to her door to help her out. Before her feet touched the ground, she was wrapped around him and they were kissing deeply, completely ignoring the rain that was beginning to come down in sheets. Abandoning anything they had brought with them, he simply loaded her over his shoulder and started a quick walk to the front door, fumbled with the latch for a second or two before getting them inside, closing the heavy door behind them before putting her down and taking her into an embrace that pushed her against the wooden frame as he began to deepen his kisses and pull her into an intimate embrace that she was responding to by kissing him back with an urgency that signaled a need to move to the bedroom immediately.

Once there, Charlie shed his jacket and boots while she doffed her coat, shoes and tights, leaving her in the long floral skirt and pink sweater as he pushed her down onto the bedspread, her hair radiating out around her like a spray of coppery silk. He broke off the kiss and surprised her by sitting lower down the bed to grasp her bare feet and rub them in his hands to warm them. She smiled at him from where she lay as he let his hot hands run up from her slender ankles to her delicate knees, pushing her skirt up as he went. He pressed his hands to the inside of her knees, urging them apart as he continued to caress upwards along her silky thighs, to reach her pale pink panties. Following his unspoken instructions, she lifted her bottom as he pulled the panties down and off in one swift movement. Then, taking charge, in his typical manner, he arranged one of her slender bare legs over his shoulder as he turned his attention to the neatly trimmed patch of auburn between her thighs.

"Now, that's beautiful." Lust gave his voice a huskiness that was very pleasing to her ear.

What he proceeded to do with this fingers and his mouth was something that Janice had never experienced. While she had been on the receiving end of oral attention before, from Michael, what Charlie was doing was in another league altogether. The intensity of pleasure caused her breath to come in short, dizzying bursts of air. She moaned his name, over and over again, unable to say anything else intelligible. He broke only a moment or two from his ministrations to gage her reaction to make sure he was taking her where he wanted her to go. She heard him say in a low whisper. "Com'on baby. Just let go."

* * *

It was one thirty in the afternoon by the time Schiffy was tucked away sleeping off his exhaustion from his ordeal. Jack and Claire had consumed lunch at the kitchen table as they played a quick game of chess which he won with a move she was convinced was illegal. They poured over the internet for half an hour as she searched the archives of games recorded and the pages of rules until she was satisfied he had won fair and square. He grinned at his victory and the way it was beginning to gall her that she could never win even though, at one time, she had been his tutor at this game.

She had turned the lava lamp on in the morning so it would be bubbling by the time they returned to accompany their time together. It was going full force by now and she found it soothing. It was her second gift from him. She would cherish it.

"Where is my keychain?" She suddenly thought of the first gift he had made for her thirteen years ago as she sat down on the edge of the bed. He flopped down on top of the sheets, still fully dressed except for his shoes.

"I have it. Don't worry, you'll get it back when I take you home."

The word 'home' seemed strange to her. When she first arrived here as his prisoner, it was all she thought about but now, it had lost its appeal. Home was here, in this weird tired old tenement because he was here. She gave him a look that made him close one eye, wincing, as though he could feel something uncomfortable coming.

"I don't want to go back. Please let me stay with you." She delivered her thought directly. There was no point in being coy with this man.

He smacked his lips and took a deep breath before looking her in the eyes calmly.

"No."

"But.."

"No. No. No." He stared at her to make his point. "You are going home. You will get back to your life and I am getting back to mine. We'll catch up later, see how the baby-making turned out and then, at best, we'll see each other when I can manage to do it at a time, and in a way, that there is zero chance that anyone will know that you have any association with me. That was the agreement, Claire. That's what we're going to do."

The disappointment registered in her face, and she picked up a pillow, hugging it against her for solace.

"I'll miss you terribly." She mumbled into the pillow. "But, I'll do as you say. I want to keep my promise. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start caring so much for you."

"Well, it's not your fault." He looked at her with pity." I'm fairly irresistible."

She laughed into the pillow and shifted her eyes toward him. He just shrugged but she saw the way his eyes crinkled up with humour.

"God, you're awful." She tossed the pillow at him and he caught it.

"You ready for one more try at the baby lottery?" He patted the spot beside him on the bed. "I've been wanting you since breakfast time. I wanted to jerk off earlier but I saved it all for you, Cumquat. I wonder if you can appreciate my dedication to the success of our venture."

"Wow, I'm impressed." She dead-panned. "How did you manage?"

"Only thinking of you my Sweet. I'm marvelous like that."

Claire smirked hard to keep herself from laughing. He might be serious. One never knew.

"Remember when you said you thought you might be a bad mother?" He took her by surprise with the sudden change in topic. She blinked at him.

"I remember."

"Well." He reached over and patted her hand. "After what I saw this morning, with Schiffy, that performance you put on for his benefit?"

She nodded for him to go on.

"Not only was it a genius move, it showed a tender side of you that any child would benefit from. You have all the patience and kindness that the job requires. I, on the other hand, was close to killing him, no lie."

"Well, the point is moot." She abandoned her side of the bed and moved over to lie beside him, placing her head on his chest, circling each button on his vest, over and over again, with her fingertip. "There is no child and it is highly unlikely that I will become a mother."

"Hmmmmmm." He sighed deeply and guided her hand a little lower to the evidence of his patient waiting. "Let's roll the dice. I'm feeling lucky."


End file.
